I. 


" 


Richard  Barksdale  Harwell 


1864. 


A  Private  Chapter  of  the  War. 


BY 


GEO.    W.    BAILEY, 

Late  First  Lieut,  bth  Mo.  Infty.,  and  A.D.C.  zd  Div.  Staff,  ijth  Army  Corps 


ST.   LOUIS: 

G,  I.  JONES  AND   COMPANY. 
1880, 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880,  by 

GEORGE  W.  BAILEY, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


BIS 


DEDICATORY. 


TO 
MRS.  CARRIE  E.  HAMBRICK, 

Of  Atlanta,  Ga.,  whose  nobility  of  soul  manifested  itself  in  rising  above 
surrounding  prejudices  and  circumstances,  proving  superior  to  them,  by 
extending  welcome  and  bestowing  aid  and  comfort  upon  a  helpless 
stranger  whom  the  misfortunes  of  war  brought  to  her  door,  and  whose 
life  was  preserved  by  her  motherly  cai'e,  sympathy,  and  encouragement, 
this  volume  is  respectfully  dedicated  by 

THE  AUTHOR. 


INTEODUCTOEY. 


This  volume  is  not  a  complete  history  of  military  experiences  of 
the  writer;  if  so,  it  would  necessarily  embrace  a  period  of  time 
extending  between  September,  1861,  and  April,  1865.  It  would 
include  enlistment  and  fifteen  months'  service  as  a  private  soldier  in 
the  Sixth  Infant^,  Connecticut  Volunteers,  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
at  Washington;  the  ocean  trip  from  Fortress  Monroe  to  Port 
Royal,  South  Carolina,  and  the  picturesque  bombardment  and 
reduction,  at  the  latter  place,  of  Forts  Walker  and  Beauregard, 
November  7,  1861,  and  the  first  lodgment  of  Union  forces  on 
South  Carolina  soil ;  the  campaign  and  expeditions  about  Hilton 
Head  and  Beaufort,  South  Carolina,  down  to  February,  1863 ; 
the  promotion  and  transfer  to  the  Sixth  Infantry,  Missouri  Volun- 
teers, Army  of  the  Tennessee ;  the  entire  campaign  of  Vicksburg, 
with  its  bloody  charges ;  the  Chattanooga  campaign,  and  bloody 
Mission  Ridge;  the  march  to  the  relief  of  Gen.  Burnside  at 
Knoxville;  the  Atlanta  campaign,  with  its  principal  battles  and 
flank  movements,  in  all  of  which  the  writer  participated  either  as  a 
private  or  as  an  officer  with  his  company,  or  as  A.  D.  C.,  Second 
Division  Staff  of  the  Fifteenth  Army  Corps,  and  during  which  he 
was  twice  wounded.  To  embrace  these  experiences,  however  inter- 
esting, would  be  foreign  to  the  object  of  this  volume,  which  is  to 
select  from  the  whole  military  history  a  "  private  chapter,"  and  pre- 
sent it  as  worthy  of  being  recorded  as  uncommon  experiences.  It 
presents  a  limited  inside  view  of  a  portion  of  the  Confederacy 

00 


Vi  INTRODUCTORY. 

within  its  military  lines,  as  secretly  observed  by  a  "stray"  from 
the  invading  army  in  blue,  whose  experiences  disclose  the  real 
political  sentiments  of  fair  samples  of  different  classes  who  resided 
within  the  Confederacy  during  the  war,  —  experiences,  not  of  a 
spy,  not  of  a  scout,  but  of  a  harmless  escaped  prisoner  of  war,  — 
a  refugee ;  free,  yet  practically  imprisoned ;  escaped,  yet  prac- 
tically confined  within  broader  limits  only ;  guilty  of  no  offence 
but  that  of  performance  of  duty  in  resorting  to  all  proper  means 
and  expedients,  and  promptly  taking  advantage  of  all  circumstances 
and  occasions,  in  determined  and  persistent  efforts  to  regain  the 
Federal  lines. 

The  scene  of  "operations"  lies  within  a  radius  of  fifty  miles 
south  and  east  of  Atlanta,  Georgia.  The  narrative  embraces :  A 
description  of  the  battle  of  Atlanta,  July  22,  1864,  where  Gen. 
McPherson  fell  and  the  writer  was  captured — Four  days  only  of 
captivity — Novel  means  of  escape  by  burial,  to  avoid  Andersonville 
prison-pen  —  Two  and  a  half  months  secreted  in  the  woods  and 
forests  of  Georgia  —  Varied  experiences  among  rich  and  poor, 
whites  and  blacks  —  Frequent  narrow  escapes  from  recapture  by 
Confederate  cavalry  — Desperate,  unsuccessful  efforts  to  reach  the 
Federal  lines  —  Conflicting  and  confusing  reports  of  Gen.  Sherman's 
defeat  and  retreat  from  Atlanta  —  Excitement  caused  by  the 
announcement,  "Atlanta's  taken!"  —  The  final  desperate  attempt 
of  the  writer,  armed,  to  reach  the  Federal  lines  —  Successful  and 
perilous  approach  to  a  point  six  miles  east  of  Atlanta,  and  one  mile 
from  Federal  pickets  —  Singular  recapture  by  two  guerrillas,  one 
in  butternut,  the  other  a  decoy  in  blue,  whose  names  are  given,  and 
whose  "business"  it  was  to  "muster  out"  unarmed  Federal  prison- 
ers—  The  promise  to  treat  the  captive  as  a  "prisoner  of  war"  — 
Conducting  the  writer  into  thick  woods  under  a  false  pretence, 
and  there  announcing  to  him,  "  This  is  as  good  a  place  to  die  as  any 
man  could  wish"  —  The  "two  minutes"  accorded  for  prayer  — 


INTRODUCTORY.  Vii 

Frivolous  pretexts  for  the  attempted  murder  —  The  interesting 
conversation  that  followed  the  announcement— The  ruse  —  The 
sudden  flight  for  life  —  The  shooting  four  times  at  the  captive, 
one  shot  taking  effect  with  almost  fatal  result — The  marvellous 
escape — A  ghastly  wound  —  The  kind  care  and  sympathy  of 
white  ladies,  who  are  introduced  to  the  reader  —  Information 
secretly  conveyed  to  the  Federal  lines  by  night  —  Prompt  response 
of  "Grarrard's  New  York  cavalry,"  U.  S.  V.,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
strong,  with  ambulance  and  surgeon  —  The  wounded  and  helpless 
.writer  conveyed  to  the  Federal  lines  at  Atlanta  —  The  wound  pro- 
nounced "mortal"  —  Slow  and  tedious  recovery  —  Governmental 
recognition  of  duty  performed  —  Revisitation,  in  1870,  of  the  scenes 
and  friends  of  1864,  together  with  portraits  of  the  principal  persons 
referred  to  in  this  "chapter." 

The  writer  is  aware  that  many  of  the  incidents  related  may  not 
seem  plausible,  and  will  tend  to  create  incredulity,  especially  among 
those  who  do  not  wish,  to  believe.  In  recognition  of  this  tendency, 
the  names  and  residences  of  other  living  witnesses  are  given. 

The  writer  is  in  possession  of  additional  evidences  not  available 
for  the  press,  —  bullet-scarred  body,  bullet-torn  coat,  stiffened 
with  his  blood,  maps,  compass,  cartridges,  and  numerous  other 
relics  of  his  experience,  —  which  are  subject  to  the  inspection  of 
the  incredulous  or  curious. 

Let  the  reader  consider  for  a  moment  the  probable  percentage  of 
those  who  were  conducted  to  secluded  places  for  the  purpose  of 
being  "mustered  out"  in  cold  blood,  for  the  "crime"  of  wearing 
the  Federal  uniform,  who  escaped  to  relate  the  unenviable  expe- 
rience. Such  contemplation  will  doubtless  lead  most  readers  to 
agree  that  it  devolves  upon  the  writer,  as  a  solemn  duty,  to  present 
this  volume  to  the  public,  comprising,  as  he  does,  the  small  per- 
centage of  one  among — HOW  MANY! 


Vili  INTRODUCTORY. 

How  many  books  will  be  written,  how  many  confessions  made, 
by  those  who  participated  on  the  safe  side  of  such  experiences? 

How  man}^  are  there,  who  were  not  on  the  preferred  side  of 
similar  experiences,  and  who  would  be  willing  witnesses  thereof, 
who  were  not  stricken  dumb  at  the  time,  and  ever  after  remained 
silent  ? 

Surely,  one  of  so  rare  experience  should  not  hesitate  to  move 
tongue  and  pen,  as  constituting  the  surviving  percentage  among  an 
unknown  number  of  victims,  and  present  not  only  facts,  but  names 
and  portraits  of  those  connected  therewith,  as  is  done  in  this  volume. 
•  In  the  relation  of  the  bloody  work  of  outlaws,  no  reflections  are 
intended  upon  soldiers  who  wore  the  gray  uniform  in  honorable  war- 
fare. Infamous  conduct,  unmasking  fiends,  will  ever  meet  the  con- 
demnation of  all  civilized  persons,  and  especially  of  all  soldiers, 
irrespective  of  the  color  of  the  uniforms  disgraced  by  assassins. 

In  explanation  of  the  delay  in  publication,  it  is  sufficient  to  state 
that,  for  the  reasons  herein  indicated,  earlier  publication  was  con- 
sidered detrimental  to  the  interests  of  some  of  the  principal  "  wit- 
nesses" residing  in  Georgia. 

GEO.  W.  BAILEY. 

ST.  Louis,  May,  1880. 


A  PRIVATE  CHAPTER  OF  THE  WAR. 


July  22,  1864;  before  Atlanta,  Ga. — Early  this  morn- 
ing, our  pickets  reported  that  the  enemy  in  our  front 
(Army  of  the  Tennessee)  had  retired  from  the  in- 
trenched position  occupied  yesterday.  Our  skirmishers 
were  pushed  forward  into  the  abandoned  Confederate 
works.  This  had  been  the  eastern  line  of  defence,  and 
is  located  about  three  miles  east  of  Atlanta,  extending 
across  the  railroad  which  runs  eastward.  The  writer 
was  aide-de-camp  on  the  staff  of  Maj.  Gen.  Morgan  L. 
Smith,  and  at  th;s  time  ranking  as  first  lieutenant.  Gen. 
Smith  then  commanded  the  Second  Division  of  the  Fif- 
teenth Army  Corps.  This  corps,  together  with  the 
Seventeenth,  comprising  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee, 
promptly  moved  up  and  occupied  the  abandoned  works 
of  the  Confederates,  and  soon  reversed  them,  making 
them  available  for  means  of  defence  against  Confed- 
erate advances.  The  day  advanced,  —  and  so  did  the 
enemy !  Our  lines  were  being  extended  on  the  extreme 
left ;  and  the  Seventeenth  Corps  had  hardly  arrived  at 


2  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

its  place  in  the  extension,  when  away  southward,  and 
rather  to  the  rear  of  the  line  of  the  Fifteenth  Corps,  be- 
gan suspicious  sounds  of  desultory  skirmishing.  The 
sounds  grew  heavier  and  heavier,  until  it  was  apparent 
that  our  lines  were  either  seriously  opposed  or  else  being 
attacked.  The  sputtering  of  skirmish-rifles  now  became 
a  continuous  rattle  of  musketry.  Huge  volumes  of  pow- 
der-smoke arose  above  the  tree-tops,  and  the  thunder  of 
artillery  was  added  to  the  conflict.  Then  we  readily 
understood  what  we  might  soon  expect  in  our  front. 
"  We  are  going  to  have  a  fight  here,"  said  Gen.  Smith, 
as  he  sat  on  his  horse  in  rear  of  our  lines,  surrounded 
by  his  staff.  ' '  They  are  raising  the  devil  on  our  left, 
and  we'll  catch  it  here  soon!"  Already  the  Confed- 
erate shells  burst  in  uncomfortable  proximity  over  our 
heads,  causing  our  horses  to  prance  to  such  an  extent 
that  they  were  sent  to  the  rear.  A  shell  burst  less  than 
fifteen  feet  overhead.  "Spherical  case,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, as  the  bullet  missiles  hissed  and  whistled  among 
the  foliage.  "Oh  me!  oh  me!"  cried  one  of  our  boys, 
as  he  held  one  arm  with  the  other  and  limped  toward 
the  rear.  "Dry  up!  dry  up!"  ordered  the  General. 
"  You're  not  hurt  much,  or  you  couldn't  bellow  like  that." 
The  roar  of  the  conflict  seems  to  increase  and  approach. 
An  ambulance  passes.  An  orderly  says,  "  Gen.  Mc- 
Pherson's  killed !  He's  in  that  ambulance."  Every  face 
was  sad ;  but  no  time  now  for  inquiries.  Every  thing  is 


OF    THE   WAR.  3 

excitement,  and  every  eye  is  strained  toward  the  woods 
skirting  our  front.  An  orderly  sent  to  order  in  our  out- 
posts returned  wounded.  The  others  were  absent  on 
duty.  "Bailey,"  said  the  General  to  the  writer,  " would 
you  mind  ordering  in  those  fellows?*'  A  horse,  —  a 
hasty  mounting,  —  a  dash  over  the  works,  —  a  dash  over 
the  intervening  space,  —  and  the  order  was  delivered. 
The  pickets  of  the  outpost  were  already  engaged  with  the 
advancing  Confederate  skirmish-line,  and  little  leaden 
messengers  hissed  and  whizzed  uncomfortably  close,  cut- 
ting through  the  air  and  foliage.  A  recall  of  pickets,  an 
excited  and  confused  "falling  in,"  and  a  hasty  repair- 
ing to  our  lines,  closely  followed  by  the  advancing  Con- 
federates. Other  pickets  are  coming  in  rapidly,  and  the 
general  report  is,  "They  are  coming  on  us  heavy!" 
While  some  are  comparatively  cool,  others  wear  panic- 
stricken  countenances,  point  wildly  toward  the  woods, 
and  huskily  exclaim,  "Here  they  come,  boys,  four  and 
five  lines  deep!  "  "They  are  right  on  us!"  and  hastily 
climb  over  the  works,  and  seek  shelter  behind  them.  Now 
there  follows  a  death-like  stillness.  The  sounds  of  battle 
have  suddenly  ceased,  and  there  is  a  calm  before  the  com- 
ing tempest.  Ominous  silence !  Every  rifle  is  cocked, 
every  eye  gazing  across  the  space  intervening  between  us 
and  the  timber.  No  words  spoken,  save  the  encouraging 
sentences  of  our  officers.  "Bailey,"  said  the  General  to 
the  writer,  "  please  take  a  position  where  you  can  see  if 


A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 


they  are  massed  and  where  they  are  massed,  and  report 
to  me,  if  you  can  find  out."  The  writer  ran  to  a  slight 
elevation  immediately  in  rear  of  our  works,  where  he  could 
obtain  a  view  of  the  whole  front,  and  there  stood  with 
•eyes  riveted  on  the  timber  some  three  hundred  yards  in 
front.  What  suspense !  What  silent  excitement !  Here 
and  there  among  the  brave  boys  in  the  works  were  faces 
pale  as  death.  They  could  not  have  been  more  ghastly 
had  they  been  reflections  of  the  countenance  of  the  writer. 
At  last  there  is  observable  a  great  commotion  in  the  dis- 
tant foliage,  and  emerging  from  it,  three  lines  deep,  in 
extraordinary  order,  come  the  advancing  enemy.  How 
beautiful !  How  regular !  A  hasty  dressing  of  the  lines 
without  halting,  a  lowering  of  bayonets,  a  charge,  and 
cheers  that  made  the  welkin  ring!  There  was  a  con- 
flict between  fear  and  admiration.  Their  prowess  is  un- 
questioned, but  their  glory  is  short!  Our  lines  open! 
Fire  leaps  from  the  crest  of  our  works ;  the  deadly  roll 
of  musketry  is  heard  continuously  amidst  the  crashes 
of  double-shotted  cannon.  Angry-hissing  rifle-balls  rival 
grape  and  canister  in  spreading  dismay  and  death  among 
our  gallant  enemies.  The  continuous  roar  of  the  battle 
drowns  all  other  sounds,  and  mother  earth  trembles  as  if 
convulsed  with  an  earthquake.  Through  the  smoke  of 
toattle,  the  writer  could  discern  confusion  and  disorder 
among  the  Confederates,  while  the  ground  was  thickly 
.strewn  with  dead  and  wounded.  A  slight  recoil,  a  hasty 


OF    THE   WAR.  5 

reformation  of  two  lines  in  one,  hearty  cheers,  another 
charge,  another  bloody  repulse !  The  sullen  foe  fall 
back  to  the  timber  in  hopeless  confusion.  Confederate 
batteries  brought  forward  suddenly  open  from  the  edge 
of  the  timber,  and  the  air  seems  thickened  with  explod- 
ing shells  and  grape  shot.  Now  returning  to  the  timber's 
edge,  reinforced,  the  repulsed  infantry  open  a  heavy 
musketry-fire,  and  the  deadly  "  minies "  cut  through 
the  smoky  scene  by  thousands.  Shells  tear  off  the  limbs 
of  trees,  and  scream  fearfully  through  the  air ;  while 
solid  shot  tear  up  the  earth,  sending  great  clouds  of  dust 
skyward.  The  dense  smoke  furnishes  an  excellent  screen, 
which  our  repulsed  enemies  are  not  slow  to  take  advan- 
tage of.  Under  its  cover  there  is  a  hasty  formation 
of  the  remnants  of  the  wreck,  and  preparation  made  for 
another  assault.  A  column  of  Confederates  pressed 
through  our  lines,  through  an  unguarded  cut  in  the  rail- 
road, and  opened  an  inexplicable  fire  on  our  bo}'S  from 
the  rear.  No  one  seemed  to  understand  the  meaning  of 
this  new  and  decidedly  disagreeable  feature ;  nor  could 
it  be  expected  that  the  best  troops  would  withstand  such 
treatment.  Bullets  madly  hissing  from  the  front,  bul- 
lets spitefully  whizzing  from  the  rear ;  obscuring  smoke 
of  battle ;  cheers  of  reformed  and  charging  lines ; 
"confusion  worse  confounded."  But  the  officers  still 
encourage:  "Once  more,  boys!"  "Give  it  to  'em 
again  !  "  "  Aim  low,  boys !  ' '  There  is  a  desultory  rat- 


6  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

tie  of  musketry-fire  from  our  works,  directed  at  the  un- 
seen lines  through  the  smoke.  But  the  living  press  the 
living  over  the  dead  and  dying,  and  the  scattered  sur- 
vivors of  the  charge  seem  compelled  to  seek  protection 
under  our  works,  hugging  mother  earth  for  dear  life. 
The  aggravating  fire  from  the  rear  produces  its  result. 
Our  lines  grow  thinner  and  thinner.  Now  a  Confeder- 
ate battle-flag  is  waved  over  our  works,  within  five  feet 
of  the  writer.  "What!  and  the  old  Army  of  the  Ten- 
nessee? "  Such  a  sight  was  never  witnessed  before,  and 
it  was  never  witnessed  again.  The  writer  saw  the  first 
Confederate  that  entered  our  works.  He  came  in  on 
the  wagon-road,  which  was  undefended.  Then  came  an- 
other ;  then  three,  six,  twenty ;  a  host  rapidly  followed, 
and  alas !  our  works  were  carried.  The  victors  rapidly 
load,  and  fire  indiscriminately  through  the  smoke  at  our 
retiring  blue-coats ;  but  in  the  confusion  and  smoke  it 
is  difficult  to  distinguish  friend  from  foe.  Capt.  Mad- 
dox,  also  of  our  division  staff,  had  remained  during  the 
battle  near  to  the  writer,  and  we  frequently  conversed 
during  its  progress.  Escape  and  safet}^  were  now  only  to 
be  considered.  We  attempted  to  glide  through  the  smoke 
to  the  rear.  Maddox  was  almost  immediately  intercepted, 
while  the  writer  was  more  fortunate  in  executing  a  small 
flank-movement,  and  reaching  a  point  well  in  the  rear, 
where  he  had  tied  his  horse ;  was  congratulating  himself, 
when  advancing  from  the  rear  came  the  victorious  Con- 


OF    THE   WAR.  7 

federates,  wild  with  delight  and  crazed  with  intoxicating 
drink.     The  railroad  cut!   that's  the  explanation;  awful 

dilemma !     ' '  Halt !  halt !  you  d— d  Yankee - !  ' ' 

exclaimed  a  drunken  Confederate,  bringing  his  rifle  down 
and  bunglingly  endeavoring  to  take  aim.  "D — n  your 
soul,  I'll  shoot  you  anyhow  (hie).  Haven't  killed  my 
Yankee  to-day!  "  The  writer  saw  his  opportunity,  and 
grasping  the  barrel  of  the  weapon,  raised  it  over  his  head 
and  held  it  there.  In  vain  did  the  Confederate  endeavor 
to  lower  it  and  release  it.  He  was  a  powerful  fellow,  and 
for  once,  at  least,  the  writer  found  an  agreeable  ally  in 
—  whiskey.  "Let  go  of  this  sword!"  said  a  voice 
sharply,  from  behind.  A  Confederate  officer  grasped  the 
drawn  blade,  and  wrenched  it  out  of  the  writer's  hand. 
He  seemed  flushed  only  with  excitement.  "Captain," 
said  the  writer,  "  this  drunken  man  is  trying  to  shoot  me 
after  I've  surrendered."  "No,  no,"  said  the  officer, 
to  my  great  relief.  "Here,  John"  (calling  a  soldier), 
"  take  this  officer  to  the  rear,  and  don't  let  him  be  harmed 
nor  robbed ,  —  hear  ? ' '  John  nodded  assent.  Now  pours 
through  the  opening  swarms  of  Confederates,  cheering, 
howling,  cursing,  shooting  at  imaginary  or  at  least  un- 
seen enemies  through  the  smoke.  During  the  confusion 
an  incident  occurred  worthy  of  mention.  A  large,  burly 
*'  blue-coat,"  apparently  a  German,  was  persistently  and 
hotly  pursued  by  a  diminutive  and  highly  decorated  Con- 
federate officer.  •  He  struck  the  retreating  Federal  over 


A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

the  head  again  and  again,  occasionally  examining  his  new, 
glittering  sword.  He  was  evidently  determined  to  color 
his  blade  with  Yankee  blood.  Was  he  endeavoring  to 
earn  promotion?  Did  he  desire  honorable  mention  for 
gallant  conduct  in  the  "  face  "  of  the  enemy  ?  Or  was  he 
meriting  the  coveted  smiles  of  Atlanta's  fair  daughters? 
Perhaps  he  had  solemnly  avowed  to  a  fair  bestower  of  the 
untarnished  weapon  that  its  lustre  should  only  be  dimmed 
by  the  gore  of  the  enemy.  The  captive  was  not  permit- 
ted to  witness  the  upshot  of  this  incident,  even  had  the 
smoke  permitted.  "This  way,"  said  his  guard,  and  we 
passed  on  the  road  through  our  works  toward  Atlanta. 
The  cries  and  moans  of  the  wounded  arose  through  the 
thick  smoke.  Some  Federal  dead  lay  stretched  in  and 
near  our  works,  but  in  front  of  them  was  an  awful  scene. 
The  ground  for  over  one  hundred  yards  was  thickly  strewn 
with  the  rebel  dead  and  wounded.  Many  cries  arose  for 
"water;  "  some  were  struggling  to  extricate  themselves 
from  tangled  heaps  of  dead,  and  calling  for  aid ;  some 
were  vainly  striving  to  stop  the  flow  of  crimson  tide 
gushing  from  ghastly  wounds  ;  many  were  fitfully  gasping 
their  last  breath.  But  the  great  majority  were  grim  and 
cold  in  the  strong  embrace  of  death,  lying  in  almost 
every  conceivable  position  ;  some  were  riddled  with  rifle- 
balls  ;  some  were  torn  with  grape  or  canister  shot,  and  at 
not  infrequent  intervals  the  bodies  were  literally  heaped 
together.  There  were  young  and  old  countenances ;  some 


OF   THE   WAR.  9 

distorted,  others  calm.  Stony  eyes  gazed  meaninglessly 
at  us  as  we  picked  our  way ;  others  stared  wildly  into 
space.  "  My  God!  look  at  that  sight*"  said  the  guard. 
"Brave  fellows,"  said  the  writer.  "Yes,  and  in  the 
right,  too,"  fairly  hissed  the  guard.  The  captive  was 
silent.  "What?"  said  the  guard,  glaring  angrily.  "I 
said  nothing,"  replied  the  captive.  "Well,  don't  you 
half  think  so  yourself?"  inquired  the  guard.  "This  is 
no  time  for  discussion ;  of  course  I  can't  deny  what  my 
uniform  expresses,"  pleaded  the  captive.  "D — n  your 
uniform,"  spitefully  hissed  the  guard.  What's  that? 
The  screeching  of  a  shell  over  our  heads.  Bang!  and 
the  pieces  of  the  exploded  missile  hum  and  whiz  through 
the  air.  Another,  and  another.  Now  they  come  in 
pairs.  Now  the  air  is  thick  with  them.  Rifle-balls  hiss 
through  the  air  thicker  and  thicker.  Now  there  is  a  per- 
fect roar  of  musketry  and  artillery.  The  sounds  come 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  heavy  smoke  rises  behind  us 
like  an  ominous  storm-cloud.  "They're  coming  back  on 
us ;  we  must  get  out  of  this,"  said  the  guard,  as  we  hur- 
ried through  the  timber.  There  was  no  rest  that  night 
for  the  Army  of  the  Tennessee,  except  upon  the  ground 
whence  it  had  been  temporarily  driven.  There  was  a 
rally,  an  immediate  counter-assault ;  cheers  rent  the  air  : 
the  struggle  for  the  lost  works  was  in  progress.  "  Look, 
look!  "  said  the  guard;  and  there  came  the  frightened, 
retreating  Confederates,  scattered  in  confusion,  every 


10  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

man  for  himself,  driven  back  in  a  wild,  fleeing  mob.  On 
came  the  blue  lines  of  infantry,  just  visible  through  the 
smoke.  The  few  disposed  to  resist  were  speedily  swept 
away  before  that  glorious  tide.  The  stars  and  stripes 
never  before  seemed  so  glorious  as  now  they  float,  dimly 
visible  through  the  smoke  of  battle,  all  along  the  recap- 
tured works.  The  captive  almost  forgot  his  captivity, 
and  exultingly  exclaimed:  "That's  the  old  Army  of  the 
Tennessee.  I  knew  they'd  never  stay  whipped  long!" 
Wild  cheers  arose  from  the  works ;  flags  flitted  fitfully 
over  the  scene  ;  the  roar  of  conflict  ceased,  and  the  bat- 
tle of  Atlanta  was  over.  History  records  the  result: 
Total  Union  loss,  3,521 ;  total  Confederate  loss,  about 
3,000  men,  5,000  stand  of  arms,  eighteen  stand  of 
colors,  and  a  victory. 

"What  of  success  in  skirmish  or  in  fray, 
If  rout  and  ruin  close  the  day?" 

When  nearing  Atlanta,  amidst  utter  confusion  outside 
of  the  main  entrenchments,  the  captive  ventured  the 
proposition,  "I'll  give  you  my  watch  and  silver  spurs 
if  you  will  march  off  with  them,  and  forget  me  a  few  mo- 
ments." The  guard  looked  wistfully  at  the  proffered 
treasures,  and  then,  casting  a  glance  at  the  confused 
masses  of  rebels  retreating  through  the  woods,  said, 
"  You  couldn't  reach  your  lines  if  I  did."  "Well,  I'll 
take  the  chances,  if  you  say  so,"  said  the  captive. 
"Well,  you'd  better  come  on,"  said  the  guard,  rather 


OF    THE   WAR.  11 

firmly  ;  and  we  emerged  from  timber  into  the  clearing  be- 
fore the  main  entrenchments  of  Atlanta.  There  floated 
the  Confederate  ensigns  ;  there  frowned  the  great  guns ; 
and  the  entrenchments  were  crested  with  Confederate 
gunners  and  infantry,  all  peering  eagerly  toward  the 
scene  of  the  recent  battle.  Inside  Atlanta,  prisoners 
from  other  parts  of  the  line  accumulate.  All  formed  in 
column,  and  the  march  through  the  city  began.  The 
dust  was  fearful.  One  of  our  soldiers,  shot  through  the 
lower  jaw,  and  speechless,  made  signs  of  distress  to  the 
writer.  "  Major,  one  of  our  boys  is  so  badly  injured  that 
he  can  hardly  march  through  this  dust ;  he  cannot  speak, 
and  would  like  to  ride,"  said  the  writer,  imploringly, 
to  the  Confederate  major  in  command.  The  major  turned 
abruptly  in  his  saddle,  looked  at  the  writer  sternly, 
placed  his  hand  on  his  revolver-handle,  and  replied, 
"  Get  back  into  the  ranks,  there  d — d  quick,  or  I'll  put  a 
ball  through  your  d — d  hide."  In  obeying  the  polite 
command,  the  writer  confronted  Capt.  Maddox.  "  Well, 
well,"  said  he,  "I  thought  you  were  killed."  "  That's 
what  I  thought  about  you,"  was  the  reply,  and  a  hearty 
"  shake  "  followed.  "  There's  my  horse,  Maddox,"  said 
the  writer,  pointing  at  the  animal  mounted  by  a  rebel  sol- 
dier. There  was  my  rubber  blanket  just  as  it  was  left, 
and  my  sword-scabbard  strapped  to  the  grand  saddle,  a 
gift  from  Gen.  Smith.  "To  what  base  uses  are  they 
come  at  last."  An  excited  rebel  soldier  amuses  the  citi- 


12  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

zen  spectators  by  trailing  one  of  our  captured  flags  in 
the  dust  behind  his  horse,  in  our  front.  Bodies  of  Con- 
federate infantry  were  moving  rapidly  toward  the  Confed- 
erate right  flank.  Women  taunted  us  with,  "Ah!  boys, 
you've  got  into  Atlanta  at  last,  haven't  you?"  Every- 
body seemed  crazed  with  delight.  The  troops  cheered 
so  lustily  while  passing  us  that  it  seemed  irregular,  at 
least,  not  to  take  .off  our  hats  in  acknowledgment  of  self- 
appropriated  compliments.  Men,  women,  and  children 
gaze  at  us  good-naturedly ;  but  occasionally  there  are 
countenances  sneering  with  scorn  or  pale  with  hatred. 
This  is  among  the  rabble.  The  elite,  especially  the  fairer 
sex,  extend  only  the  welcome  of  compressed  lips,  and 
eyes  scintillating  with  expressions  of  hatred.  All  had 
evidently  heard  only  of  the  u  great  victor}^"  If  they 
heeded  the  recent  rattle  of  musketry,  and  the  heavy 
crashes  of  artillery  which  caused  the  earth  to  tremble 
beneath  their  feet,  they  misinterpreted  them  to  signify 
the  further  discomfiture  of  the  "  boys  in  blue."  But  a 
u  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  their  dreams:"  Sher- 
man's iron  grasp  encircled  doomed  Atlanta. 

The  Union  prisoners  were  all  brought  to  the  yard  of  the 
Confederate  provost-marshal  and  enrolled  as  prisoners  of 
war.  Among  them  were  Col.  R.  K.  Scott,  Sixty-eighth 
Ohio  Infantry,  commanding  brigade  ;  Col.  Warren  Shedd, 
of  the  Thirtieth  Illinois  Infantry;  Lieut.  Col.  Wallace, 
Forty-seventh  Ohio  Infantry ;  Lieut.  Col.  Saunders,  Six- 


OF   THE   WAK.  13 

teenth  Iowa  Infantry;  Maj. ,  of  the  Ninety-ninth  In- 
diana Infantry;  a  major  of  Gen.  Harrow's  staff;  Capt. 
Maddox,  One  Hundred  and  Sixteenth  Illinois  Infantry, 
and  of  Second  Division,  Fifteenth  Army  Corps,  staff  ;  and 
many  other  officers  of  lower  rank,  all  belonging  to  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee,  —  about  eighty  officers  in  all,  be- 
sides a  great  number  of  soldiers.  It  was  now  twilight. 
*'  Fall  in,  prisoners !"  The  line  was  formed.  The  officers 
were  separated  from  and  preceded  the  soldiers.  As  we 
marched  southward,  the  streets  were  filled  with  old  men, 
women,  and  children ;  and  the  many  curious  expressions 
and  taunts  among  the  non-combatants  suggested,  in  turn, 
ignorance,  prejudice,  indifference,  joy,  and  contempt. 
Our  guards,  as  a  rule,  meekly  bore  their  honors  without 
compromising  their  dignity.  "  We  are  going  to  East 
Point,"  said  one  guard.  Since  most  of  us  hadn't  been 
to  "  West  Point,"  we  could  at  least  visit  East  Point ;  and 
we  merrily  indulged  in  perpetrating  puns  on  these  two 
decided  extremes  of  "East  Point,  West,"  and  "West 
Point,  East." 

What  a  contrast  between  the  exciting  scenes  of  the  day 
and  the  calm  and  silence  of  the  night,  broken  only  by 
the  sounds  of  the  dull  tramp  through  the  thick  dust,  the 
occasional  stern  commands  of  the  Confederate  officers, 
and  the  peaceful  voices  of  the  night.  It  is  the  gentle 
approach  of  evening's  holy  hour  that  has  bid  the  raging 
tumult  cease,  — 


14  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"All  things  are  hushed  before  her,  as  she  throws 
O'er  earth  and  sky  her  mantle  of  repose." 

A  halt.  Our  infantry  guards  are  relieved  by  cav- 
alry, and  the  march  resumed.  The  major  of  the 
Ninety-ninth  Indiana  and  the  writer,  concoct  a  plan 
of  escape.  The  horrors  of  Andersonville  already  loom 
up  before  us.  The  plan  is,  to  pass  immediately  behind 
the  horse  of  a  guard,  to  be  as  far  as  possible  from  his 
follower,  and  trust  to  the  concealment  of  the  shades 
of  night  for  the  rest.  An  opportunity  arrives;  we 
glide  silently  out  of  the  ranks,  and  in  an  instant  are 
safely  concealed  in  the  adjoining  woods.  A  rapid  walk ; 
a  horse  in  the  path,  and  also  a  dismounted  cavalryman. 
The  snorting  and  uneasiness  of  the  horse  spreads  to  the 
rider.  "  Who  goes  there?  "  he  bawled,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  No  response;  dead  silence.  Will  he  fire?  "You 
had  better  get  back  into  the  ranks  d — d  quick,  there,  or 
I'll  put  a  slug  through  ye,"  said  he,  approaching  us. 
The  major,  doubtless  wisely  acting  under  the  axiom  ' '  Dis- 
cretion 's  the  better  part  of  valor,"  immediately  glided 
back  toward  the  road,  and  the  writer  felt  impelled  to 
reluctantly  follow  the  good  example.  More  indifferent 
concerning  our  getting  in  than  our  getting  out,  we  joined 
the  rear  of  the  column,  were  detected,  and  placed  under 
special  guard  for  the  remainder  of  the  march. 

The  evening  was  very  sultry,  the  roads  very  dusty, 
the  day's  excitement  very  exhausting,  the  prisoners  very 


OF   THE   WAR.  15 

much  fatigued.  We  had  not  been  invited  to  lunch,  and 
most  of  us  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning.  The  dust 
was  suffocating ;  hair,  eyes,  ears,  nostrils,  throat,  lungs, 
clothes, — every  thing  covered  or  smeared  with  dust. 
"Water!"  cry  the  sufferers.  "Can't  we  have  some 
water?"  No  response.  The  clouds  which  veiled  the 
sky  slowly  passed  away,  and  a  soft,  silvery,  misty  light 
fell  upon  us.  In  the  dim  moonlight  we  observe  an  occa- 
sional glittering  of  the  arms  of  our  guards.  But  there 
are  no  distinctions  now  in  uniforms;  we  are  all  of  a 
color.  The  blue  have  all  been  converted  into  gray ;  and 
buttons  no  longer  bright,  shoulder-straps  no  longer  bril- 
liant, refuse  to  reflect  the  silvery  rays.  The  general 
hawking  has  become  painful  to  the  ear.  There  is  a  de- 
pression in  the  road,  and  the  head  of  the  column  enters  a 
pearly  stream  flowing  across  it.  We  hear  the  splash  of 
the  water,  and  with  gladdened  eyes  observe  the  precious 
flood  sparkle  as  it  is  forded  by  weary  feet.  Water! 
What  a  boon!  "Water,"  gratefully  utter  a  hundred 
thirsty  throats  ;  but  there  is  no  halt.  The  guards  gruffly 
command,  "  Forward  there !  push  on  there!  close  up!" 
As  the  jaded  and  thirsty  prisoners  are  hurried  through 
the  rippling  stream,  hats,  caps,  hands,  every  thing,  are 
brought  into  requisition  to  acquire  a  few  drops  of  the 
cooling  stream.  Canteens  are  useless,  their  possessors 
spending  the  precious  moments  in  endeavoring  to  fill 
themselves.  The  writer  scooped  up  and  eagerly  swal- 


16  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

lowed  what  be  could  obtain  by  handf  uls,  but  was  hurried 
through  and  on  with  the  others.  He  was  almost  tempted 
to  drink  and  die.  Surely  death  by  drowning  had  lost  all 
of  its  terrors.  So  the  panting,  hungry,  jaded  prisoners, 
burning  with  thirst,  were  driven  through,  yet  permitted 
to  drink  not  of  the  refreshing  gift,  water,  of  all  de- 
sires the  greatest!  Delicious  stream,  of  which  we  dare 
not  partake.  It  will  require  argument  to  convince  any 
of  those  comprised  in  this  particular  column  of  unfor- 
tunates that  there  are  many  circumstances  which  can 
surpass  this  in  unnecessary  suffering  on  the  one  hand, 
or  in  the  exhibition  of  refined  cruelty  on  the  other. 

Shortly  before  midnight  we  arrived  at  East  Point, 
Georgia,  several  miles  south  of  Atlanta,  and  corralled  like 
mules,  an  angular  entrenchment  forming  two  sides  of  our 
limits.  The  general  ciy  was,  Water !  the  desire  for  which 
seemed  to  be  doubly  increased  by  the  aggravating  circum- 
stances at  the  ford.  "  For  God's  sake,  colonel,  or  major, 
or  captain,  give  us  only  a  little  water!  "  In  undue  time 
water  —  delicious  water  —  was  furnished.  A  new  danger 
presented  itself:  overdrinking.  But  there  were  thirsty 
beings  there,  who  would  drink,  and  drink,  apparently  in 
disregard  of,  if  not  inviting,  danger.  They  thought  of 
nothing,  heeded  nothing,  but  water ;  and  seemed  willing 
to  pay  any  penalty  for  their  indulgence.  No  rations. 
We  immediately  stretched  our  tired  bodies  on  the  bare 
earth,  and  under  the  comforting  cover  of  the  clouds 


OF   THE   WAR.  17 

were  soon  embraced  in  the  soothing  arms  of  slumber. 
An  hour  passed  ;  the  writer  awoke,  cold,  and  stiff  in  every 
joint.  A  brisk  walk  around  the  "pen,"  for  exercise 
and  observation.  Oho!  a  double  line  of  guards,  eh? 
and  "no  conversation  with  prisoners."  Guess  I'll  not 
be  able  to  make  that  anticipated  "  watch  trade"  to-night. 
A  quiet  return  to  "  bed  ;"  a  rolling  and  tossing  restlessly ; 
a  gazing  into  "the  dim-lit  vault  of  the  sky;"  a  mental 
recapitulation  of  the  battle  ;  a  wonder  if  the  General  came 
out  safe  (reckless  man!),  and  if  any  of  our  staff  were 
hurt;  how  the  Sixth  Missouri  stood  it,  and  the  general 
result  of  the  battle.  "A  thousand  to  ten"  that  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee  is  sleeping  in  those  works  at  the 
present  moment.  A  half-vision  of  charging  rebels,  flut- 
tering battle-flags,  roar  and  smoke  of  conflict,  moans  of 
wounded,  and  the  stars  and  stripes  triumphantly  waving 
through  the  smoke  of  battle,  and  slumber  closes  the 
weary  eyelids. 

July  23. — Hungry  —  fasted  twenty-four  hours.  Still 
no  rations.  We  are  permitted  to  trade  with  the  natives ; 
and  the  officers,  now  separated  from  the  soldier-prisoners, 
are  trading  watches,  pocket-books,  jewelry,  ornaments, 
money,  finger-rings  —  every  possession  but  life  —  for  corn- 
bread  and  other  edibles.  "What  will  you  give  for  my 
watch?"  asked  the  writer  of  a  lean,  long,  cadaverous- 
looking  corn-bread  merchant.  He  looked  at  the  time- 

2 


18  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

piece  a  moment,  and  invitingly  held  out  a  small  loaf 
(or  "pone")  of  bread.  "No,  sir!"  indignantly  re- 
sponded the  writer.  "  Will  you  give  four  loaves  for  it?" 
5ln  emphatic  shake  of  the  head.  "  Tlien  I'll  wait  four 
days  longer  for  rations,"  said  the  writer.  Another  enter- 
prising genius  peddled  watermelons.  No  possibility  of 
trading  silver  spurs  for  bread  or  potatoes,  and  desiring  to 
make  other  use  of  his  watch,  he  obtained  for  the  spurs 
part  of  a  very  tempting  watermelon.  At  evening  the 
long-hoped-for  rations  arrived.  Hunger  was  not  the 
enemy  that  thirst  had  been.  A  dealing  of  rations  to  the 
representatives  of  each  mess  of  ten ;  one  coarse  meal 
cracker  and  a  small  bit  of  bacon,  one  ration.  "This 
is  for  twenty-four  hours. ' '  The  writer  gratefully  accepted 
his  "tenth,"  and  proceeded  to  prepare  it  for  demolition. 
The  bacon,  experts  say,  consists  of  the  "ends,"  and  is 
very  generally  suspected.  What  an  advantage  in  the 
maxim,  "In  the  midst  of  arms,  the  laws  are  silent." 
And  why?  Because  otherwise  the  occupants  of  these 
crackers  could  show  superior  titles  against  us,  under 
the  statute  of  limitations.  They'd  only  have  to  show 
ten  3rears'  possession.  Very  mouldy.  An  economical 
brushing  and  blowing,  and  the  writer,  for  one,  was  on 
the  outside  of  his  rations  in  a  twinkle.  Others  shut  their 
eyes  and  feasted.  The  only  remaining  consolation  con- 
cerning the  "  tenants  "  was  that  they  got  the  worst  of  it. 
JBut  the  "tenants"  did  not  comprise  the  whole  difficulty. 


OF    THE   WAR.  19 

Many  a  manly  struggle  resulted  in  costing  a  tooth,  and 
paying  with  nothing  but  a  worm.  Those  unaffected  by 
the  change  of  diet  slept  upon  the  bosom  of  mother  earth, 
under  the  spangled  covering,  during  the  second  night  of 
captivity. 

July  24.  —  Bright  and  beautiful  morning.  Stiffened 
joints  the  rule ;  hardship  beginning  to  produce  its  effect 
on  many ;  despondency  general ;  frequent  muttering  of 
protests ;  a  few  countenances  cheerful.  Hungry ;  sick- 
ness appearing.  ' '  Rations !  rations  ! ' '  cry  the  pris- 
oners. Articles  most  valuable  and  longest  retained, 
hardest  to  part  from,  now  freely  traded  for  something, 
anything,  to  eat ;  but  the  majority  can  neither  buy  nor 
beg.  The  day  advances  ;  still  no  rations,  no  explanation. 
The  clamor  for  something  to  eat  becomes  boisterous; 
loud  expressions  of  indignation.  There  is  a  commotion 
indicating  a  spirit  of  revolt.  A  battery  of  Napoleon  guns 
bearing  on  us  are  suggestively  pointed  at  by  the  com- 
manding officer,  who  sternly  advises  peaceful  submis- 
sion. Confederate  gunners  carelessly  loll  upon  and 
around  the  guns,  with  a  "  ready  "  appearance.  "Double- 
shotted  with  canister,  eh?  Well,  we  want  something  to 
eat,  that's  all;  we  can't  starve  submissively."  To  those 
who  had  so  recently  witnessed  the  terrible  effect  of  can- 
ister, the  brazen  muzzles  of  the  frowning  guns  had  a 
peculiar  significance,  a  soothing  effect.  Music  by  the 


20  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

band  —  brass  band.  Prisoners  regaled  by  the  stirring 
notes  of  "The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag,"  "Dixie,"  and  other 
"national"  airs.  [Those  notes  sound  in  the  writer's 
memory  as  if  but  rendered  yesterday.]  Especially  fine 
were  the  cornet  variations  in  "The  Bonnie  Blue  Flag." 
Toward  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we  were  startled  by 
the  singing  of  a  -hymn  near  our  enclosure.  Now  a  fervent 
prayer:  an  invocation  of  the  Divine  blessing  upon  "our 
glorious  army"  and  "righteous  cause;"  "the  presi- 
dent of  these  Confederate  States,  and  all  of  our  civil 
and  military  authorities ;"  "our  sick  and  wounded  and 
mourning ;  "  an  emphatic  "Amen !  "  What!  no  word  for 
us  ?  Is  that  Christian  charity  ?  Guess  that  chaplain  has 
heard  of  the  result  of  Hood's  attempt  to  drive  the  Yan- 
kees back  to  Chattanooga.  There's  considerable  human 
nature  in  —  human  nature.  There  is  more  charity  in  the 
singing;  the  good  old  hymns  have  the  same  words  as 
at  home,  and  the  harmony  is  fine,  the  effect  soothing. 
Slumber.  Though  the  body  was  captive,  the  spirit  was 
unconfined.  It  passed  the  rebel  sentries  without  chal- 
lenge, flew  over  contending  armies,  and  dwelt  among 
kind  friends  and  pleasant  faces.  Harmonious  sounds 
of  voices  and  rich  strains  of  music  greeted  it;  no 
enemy,  no  gruff  sentries,  no  hunger,  no  hardship,  no- 
war  ;  peace  and  plenty.  Even  the  sweet  face  of  one  who 
had  recently  passed  from  earthly  scenes  returned  from 
its  better  abode  to  greet  it,  and  again  respond  to  the 


OF   THE   WAR.  21 

endearing  name  of  —  mother!  A  sudden  shock;  an 
awakening ;  a  drowsy  realization  of  the  beautiful  delu- 
sion ;  a  reluctant  appreciation  of  the  situation ;  slow 
moving  of  obstinate  limbs ;  reluctant  action  of  stiffened 
joints. 

Evening.  Rations  at  last;  same  as  before  in  quality 
and  quantity.  We  were  informed  by  announcement  that 
these  rations  were  issued  in  advance  for  the  following 
twenty-four  hours.  Useless  to  protest ;  we  had  but  one 
remaining  right  —  the  right  to  submit.  "  That's  the  best 
we  can  do ;  we  are  short  of  rations  for  our  own  troops," 
said  the  major.  Most  of  us  devoured  the  4 '  twenty-four 
hours  rations  in  advance"  at  one  standing.  Darkness 
again ;  sleep,  broken  only  by  the  relief  of  the  guards  or 
by  the  challenges  of  sentries.  Morning. 

July  25.  — Continued  silence  in  the  direction  of  Atlanta. 
What  was  the  result  of  the  battle?  how  many  killed? 
what  does  this  silence  mean?  has  Sherman  fallen  back? 
has  Hood  evacuated  ?  were  questions  occasionally  asked, 
but  no  reliable  responses  elicited.  One  genius  said, 
4 'The  Yankees  can't  fight  for  awhile;  all  the  live  ones 
are  busy  burying  the  dead  ones."  (Astounding  an- 
nouncement—  astute  sentry  !)  "  How  long  are  we  going 
to  be  kept  in  this  miserable  place?  "  "  How  long  are  we 
to  be  kept  on  quarter-rations  ? ' '  Nobody  seemed  to 
know.  We  knew  that  exchanges  of  prisoners  had  ceased 


22  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

because  of  a  misunderstanding  or  disagreement  concern- 
ing the  status  of  negro  troops,  and  that  no  immediate 
prospects  were  entertained  that  the  question  could  be 
speedily  settled.  The  gloomy  prospect  of  Andersonville 
loomed  up  again.  Horrifying  contemplation.  A  careful 
mental  consideration  and  adjustment  of  chances  for  life 
resulted  in  favor  of  a  desperate  attempt  to  escape,  rather 
than  attempt  to  survive  Andersonville.  While  thus  con- 
templating, we  were  startled  by  the  loud,  stern  com- 
mand of  a  Confederate  major,  ordering,  ''Fall  in, 
prisoners!  Huny  up!"  A  hasty  formation  into  line 
(no  trouble  about  baggage),  a  march  southward,  the 
officers  separated  from  the  soldier-captives.  Where  are 
we  going?  Don't  know;  can't  ascertain  —  but  toward 
Andersonville. 

Confederate  officers  rather  provoke  argument  on  the 
subject  of  the  war,  and  many  interesting  discussions  en- 
sue. No  opportunity  afforded  an  invitation  to  attempt  to 
escape.  Near  evening  we  march  through  Jonesboro, 
Georgia,  some  twenty  miles  south  of  Atlanta,  situated  on 
the  Macon  Railroad.  Inhabitants  line  the  street;  first 
Yankees  —  great  curiosities.  Whites  rather  jubilant; 
the  pitying  glances  of  the  blacks  indicate  their  sympa- 
thy. Desiring  confirmation,  an  opportunity  was  sought 
to  converse  with  a  negro.  (A  beckoning,  an  approach.) 
"Stop  that,"  said  the  guard.  "Get  back  there,  you 
d — d  nigger."  But  the  mere  prompt  effort  on  the  part 


OF   THE    WAR.  23 

of  the  negro  to  respond  was  convincing  enough  of  sym- 
pathy and  friendship.  Two  miles  below  the  town,  and 
we  reach  our  quarters  for  the  night  —  open  field.  A 
blanket  is  carelessly  thrown  among  the  prisoners,  and 
falls  upon  the  writer.  Providential ;  a  great  luxury ; 
comforting  rest  assured.  (A  few  fires  ;  retirement,  shar- 
ing the  precious  blanket  with  a  fellow-captive.  I  won- 
der, suspect.  No  —  yes;  it  is  not  gentle  thoughts  that 
"come  o'er  me  stealing."  But  there's  something  —  a 
new  enemy.  Retreat?  Impossible;  a  detachment  of  the 
enemy  already  in  possession ;  vain  attempt  at  dislodg- 
ment.  And  they  are  ex-Confederates,  too!  Ravenous. 
Sleep  impossible  ;  escape  possible.  A  guard  approached. ) 
"Halt  there!"  said  he.  "I  want  to  speak  with 
you  a  moment,"  said  the  prisoner;  "I've  something 
interesting  to  say  to  you."  "Well,  what  is  it?"  asked 
the  sentry.  "I  have  a  very  fine  timepiece  here  (old 
silver  '  turnip  '),  and  if  you'll  do  me  a  small  favor  you 
can  have  it,"  said  the  prisoner.  The  sentry  seemed  not 
averse  to  possessing  the  watch  ;  and,  looking  wistly  at  it, 
asked,  "What  favor  do  you  want  for  it?"  "Turn 
your  back  and  don't  see  me  pass  out,"  said  the  prisoner. 
"Agreed,"  said  the  sentry.  "I'll  be  back  in  a  few 
moments,"  said  the  prisoner.  (A  return  to  obtain  a  can- 
teen and  beg  a  little  "hardtack;"  a  whispered  "good- 
bye;" a  stealthy  reapproach.)  "Halt!  where  are  you 
going?  "  demanded  the  sentry.  "It's  only  myself.  It's 


24  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

all  right,"  said  the  prisoner,  approaching;  "  don't  speak 
so  loud."  "  Stop,  d — d  you!  "  said  the  sentry,  emphat- 
ically, bringing  down  his  rifle.  Thunder!  A  n&w 
guard.  The  clanking  sound  of  an  officer's  scabbard  ap- 
proached the  sentry  as  the  distance  lengthened  between 
him  and  the  chagrined  captive,  who  picked  his  way 
through  the  prostrated  forms  of  prisoners  back  to  his 
44  mess"  and  cast  his  weary  self  upon  "mother  earth" 
and  slept  until  the  early  morning  of  — 

July  26,  —  When  we  were  gruffly  ordered  to  "  Fall  in, 
prisoners,"  and  over  very  dusty  roads  marched  rapidly 
southward.  No  rations.  At  early  evening  we  were  cor- 
ralled in  a  large  enclosure  or  pasture  some  ten  miles 
north  of  Griffin,  Georgia,  near  "Big  Sandy  Creek." 
Several  beautiful  young  ladies  visited  us  from  a  neighbor- 
ing plantation,  and  while  not  compromising  themselves, 
nor  their  friends  who  wore  the  gray,  they  still  seemed  to 
possess  those  tender  natures  which  sympathized  with 
suffering  humanity  even  in  blue,  and  kindly  distributed 
among  the  prisoners  who  approached  them  royal  gifts  in 
the  shape  of  luscious  apples,  of  which  the  writer  was 
fortunate  enough  to  obtain  one.  The  occasion  also  served 
to  demonstrate  to  the  Southern  beauties  that  even  under 
adverse  circumstances  the  Yankees  did  not  forget  their 
early  lessons  in  politeness  and  gratitude.  Darkness  dis- 
persed visitors  and  brought  quiet.  We  again  rest  on 


OF    THE   WAR.  26 

"  mother  earth,"  huddling  together  like  pigs  to  present 
united  resistance  to  the  damp  earth  and  chilly  night  air. 
The  writer  gazed  upward  into  the  "  dim-lit  vault"  above 
him,  and  was  busy  with  his  thoughts.  "  Andersonville," 
they  say.  "No  chance  for  exchange,  because  of  Con- 
federate refusal  to  recognize  colored  troops.  I'm  cer- 
tain I  wouldn't  live  in  Andersonville  a  week.  "Uncle 
Sam"  not  likely  to  yield  the  point  on  color.  Desperate 
alternative,  but  I'll  take  my  chances  in  attempting  to  es- 
cape. ' '  There's  a  gully,  through  a  brier-patch.  New  light : 
escape  by  way  of  burial.  Plan  matured ;  trusty  com- 
rade officers  assist.  Tin  cup,  muscles,  will,  calculating  in- 
genuity, friendly  suggestions,  briers  cut  to  be  stuck  in 
the  earth  concealing  the  writer  and  present  uninviting 
appearance  to  pedestrians,  and  cautious  work,  were 
brought  into  requisition,  and  the  grave-digging  was  com- 
pleted. During  the  labor,  the  captive's  thoughts  dwelt 
with  some  misgivings  upon  the  imperative  orders  of  the 
major,  issued  the  day  before  in  the  presence  of  the 
prisoners:  "Shoot  stragglers  without  warning.  If  you 
catch  a  man  hiding,  bayonet  him  without  a  word.  No 
nonsense."  Intended  for  intimidation,  eh?  Well,  it's 
safer  to  consider  it  in  earnest.  He  thought  also  of  the 
immatured  plan  to  disarm  our  guards ;  how  they  were  to 
be  set  upon  simultaneously;  how  information  of  three 
companies  behind  us  deterred  us,  and  how  disappointed 
some  were  when  better  counsel  discouraged  the  attempt 


26  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

to  reverse  the  situation.  But  the  "grave."  Col.  Shedd, 
Thirtieth  Illinois,  now  tendered  his  assistance.  Boughs 
and  grass  were  gathered  ;  the  adventurer  fitted  in  ;  satis- 
faction. "All  right,  cover  up."  First  came  grass  and 
boughs,  then — "Oh  here,  Lieutenant,  here  are  some 
things  you'll  need."  Col.  Scott  presented  some  maps 
(linen)  of  the  country,  rolled  up  in  which  was  a  small 
pocket-compass,  presented  by  Col.  Shedd.  A  canteen 
was  also  presented,  and  served  as  a  substitute  for  a  pil- 
low. A  hurried  hand-shaking,  a -hasty  good-bye,  and 
the  burial  proceeded.  Earth  came  down  upon  him,  press- 
ing heavier  and  heavier.  Old  grass  concealed  fresh 
earth,  and,  pursuant  to  programme,  stalks  of  blackberry 
were  cut,  and  planted  in  the  "new-made  grave,"  in  the 
hope  that  they  would  appear  uninviting  to  pedestrians 
and  better  conceal  the  concealment. 

Daylight  approaches.  Now  the  morning  gray  streams 
in  one  little  ray  through  the  small  aperture  ingeniously 
constructed  at  the  head  of  the  concealment  for  air. 
"Lieutenant"  (a  voice  from  above),  "here  are  some 
rations  for  you,  at  your  head,  just  under  the  surface." 
"  Oh  thank  you !"  was  the  muffled  response  ;  "  but  don't 
stop  up  the  hole."  An  hour  slowly  passed ;  another  — 
seemed  like  three.  The  pressure  from  above  seemed  to 
increase  more  and  more ;  a  ton  couldn't  seem  heavier. 
The  right  side  and  arm  were  now  without  feeling  — 
paralyzed ;  whole  body  in  pain ;  pressure  terrible.  The 


OF    THE   WAR.  27 

suffering  body  suggested  a  reconsideration;  ruled  "out 
of  order  ' '  as  Andersonville  came  in  view.  A  death-like 
chill  now  seemed  to  penetrate  the  body  of  the  buried 
captive,  as  if  threatening  to  freeze  the  vitals.  To  move 
would  be  a  luxury,  but  a  motion  of  the  "foundation" 
would  certainly  demolish  or  disturb  the  upper  stories. 

July  27.  —  Broad  daylight.  Distant  view  of  sunlight. 
My  acquaintance  entirely  cut.  Are  their  motives  actuated 
by  prudence  or  fear?  Wonder  if  every  thing  is  all  right? 
Is  there  any  fresh  earth  visible  ?  Do  the  briers  stand  up 
properly?  Considerable  risk,  this.  Wouldn't  like  to  be 
the  digger  of  my  own  grave.  Foolish  risk,  perhaps.  But 
what  can  I  do  now  but  lie  perfectly  still?  Unusual  com- 
motion above.  Footsteps  hastily  approach  the  "brier- 
patch."  A  voice,  "All  right,  Lieutenant;  lay  low;  good- 
bye." (Retreating  footsteps.)  Encouragement  and  con- 
solation. The  "forsaken"  indistinctly  heard,  "Hurry 
up  your  breakfast!"  (breakfast!)  and  "Fall  in!  "  The 
line  extended  in  close  proximity  to  the  "missing"  cap- 
tive. "  Column,  right  face  !  forward  —  march !  "  and  the 
column  was  in  motion.  How  distinctly  can  be  heard  the 
regular  tread.  A  sudden  heavy  pressure,  another; 
twice  stepped  upon,  but  by  captives  or  captors  remains 
a  mystery.  A  mounted  Confederate  rode  at  the  rear  of 
the  column,  and  the  sound  of  the  horse's  feet  beating  on 
the  hardened  path  is  distinctly  heard  by  the  hidden  pris- 


28  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

oner ;  nearer  and  nearer  approaching,  now  alarmingly 
close,  and  a  welcome  passage  by.  The  loose  earth  rattled 
down  through  the  narrow  window,  and  the  danger  passed. 
The  road  reached  by  the  column.  A  halt.  "All  right," 
rang  along  the  lines,  and  the  column  moved  southward. 
Glorious  relief.  The  forsaken  had  chatted  freely  with  a 
Confederate  officer  the  previous  day,  and  entertained  some 
fear  that  on  that  account  he  might  be  missed  the  more 
readily  by  the  officer.  The  Confederate  rear-guards  now 
drew  rations  from  a  wagon  on  the  road,  thereby  neces- 
sitating further  patience.  Rations  drawn,  guards  and 
wagon  pass  on;  time  is  precious.  Voices;  a  grunt; 
a  craunching ;  crumbs  chasing  each  other  down  the  air- 
hole. A  modest  hog  calmly  devours  my  hidden  rations, 
and  leisurely  passes  on.  Voices  still:  children.  It 
must  be  investigated.  A  slow  pressure  of  the  head  up- 
ward ;  a  giving  of  the  covering ;  a  falling  of  the  loose 
earth  and  dust  into  ears  and  eyes  and  down  the  neck 
(agreeable  sensations!),  and  through  a  little  mound  of 
sticks  and  boughs  and  briers  and  dirt  peered  two  anx- 
ious eyes  over  the  recent  "bed-chamber."  A  huge  hog; 
a  negress,  with  two  white  children,  evidently  searching 
for  relics  of  Yankee  visitation,  were  the  only  living  things 
visible.  What  a  deserted  appearance  ;  yet  loneliness  was 
never  before  so  coveted.  Joy!  a  slight  rain  falls  with 
refreshing  welcome,  and  drives  the  curiosity-hunters 
from  the  field.  Is  there  a  possibility  that  the  ground  is 


OF   THE   WAR.  29 

still  watched?  A  listening;  a  further  elevating  of  the 
miscellaneous  mound.  Sounds  of  horses  feet ;  three 
cavalrymen  pass  on  the  adjoining  road  in  the  direction 
of  the  departed  captives.  A  hasty  lowering  of  the  head  ; 
another  reconnoissance.  Raining  copiously,  and  the 
water  trickles  through  the  covering  and  renders  the 
u grave"  untenable.  Now!  and  with  a  bound  and  a 
spring  the  slimy,  narrow  concealment  was  cleared,  and 
the  adjoining  timber  entered  at  " double  quick."  What! 
another  blue  uniform?  and  gliding  away  through  the 
timber  like  a  deer.  The  captive  stood  spell-bound.  The 
tall  object  finally  turned,  stopped,  and  looked  as  if  sur- 
prised. A  slow  approach,  an  explanation,  congratula- 
tions, uniting  of  destinies  for  present  purposes.  "  What 
is  your  name,  Lieutenant?"  asked  the  companion. 
"Bailey,  of  Gen.  M.  L.  Smith's  staff;  and  yours?" 
"Lybyer,"  said  he,  "of  the  Indiana  cavalry."  Mutual 
expressions  of  satisfaction;  "misery  loves  company" 
demonstrated.  "You  are  very  tall,  Lybyer,  but  you 
appear  very  young  for  a  soldier,"  suggested  the  officer. 
"I'm  six  feet  and  over,  and  seventeen  years  of  age," 
said  he.  "Why,  eighteen  is  the  youngest  enlistment  in 
our  army.  How  did  you  get  in?"  asked  the  officer. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "I  got  in  on  my  length,  I  suppose." 
A  united,  hearty  laugh. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  writer  reached  the  Federal 
lines  that  he  learned  that  the  prisoners  were  halted  and 


30  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

counted  when  about  half  a  mile  from  camp,  and  one 
officer  reported  as  missing ;  that  a  patrol  was  immediately 
sent  back,  and,  shortly  after,  shooting  was  heard,  which 
all  supposed  was  occasioned  by  the  discovery  of  the 
concealed  captive.  Hence,  when  the  special  exchange 
between  Sherman  and  Hood  was  effected,  the  fellow-cap- 
tives reported  the  writer  as  undoubtedly  killed.  Doubt- 
less the  shooting  was  intended  to  produce  that  impression 
among  the  prisoners. 

The  floodgates  of  the  skies  seemed  opened,  and  the  rain 
fell  in  torrents.  A  retreat  to  the  heart  of  the  woods. 
The  whole  surface  was  inundated.  We  stood  upon  the 
elevated  localities  under  the  great  trees,  and  mutely  con- 
sidered the  situation,  while  the  storm  raged  fearfully. 
We  were  as  wet  as  water  could  make  us ;  still,  it  was 
considered  better  to  be  out  of  the  water  than  in  it. 
Homeless,  houseless,  friendless,  wet,  cold,  —  such  cir- 
cumstances were  well  calculated  to  dampen  the  ardor  and 
cool  the  zeal  of  the  most  ambitious,  and  to  destroy  the 
ecstacy  which  attended  the  first  realization  of  freedom. 
For  hours  we  silently  stood,  each  in  his  own  way  contem- 
plating the  situation.  The  storm  of  wind  and  water  raged 
fearfully,  causing  the  woods  to  roar  like  old  ocean.  The 
aged  oaks  groaned  dismally,  and  bowed  their  venerable 
heads  to  the  gale.  Toward  evening  the  storm  abated. 
Broken  trees  and  swollen  streams  were  left  to  attest  its 
fury.  * '  How  did  you  get  away  ? ' '  asked  the  officer.  ' '  I 


OF    THE   WAR.  31 

was  asleep  in  a  brush-pile.  I  didn't  wake  up  until  after 
they'd  gone  ;  then  I  thought  I'd  go  the  other  way,"  said 
Lybyer.  "How  did  you  get  away?"  "Buried  myself," 
said  the  officer,  with  an  explanation  of  the  mode.  We 
feasted  on  blackberries  ;  water  —  liquid  mud.  Hungry. 
Twilight ;  we  approach  the  road.  A  mansion ;  negro 
cabins  in  rear.  Objectives  —  the  blacks.  A  whispered 
consultation ;  we  are  unanimous  in  our  opinion  that  the 
blacks  are  our  friends.  We  reach  the  road.  Hark !  hoofs 
pattering  on  the  well- washed  road ;  approaching.  We 
immediately  drop  behind  a  large  bush,  and  lie  protected 
from  the  mud  on  the  grassy  border  of  the  field.  We  now 
hear  the  clanking  of  sabres,  and  human  voices.  A  squad- 
ron of  cavalry  pass,  clearly  visible  in  the  twilight.  We 
had  no  inclination  to  interfere  with  them ;  they  pass 
without  challenge. 

Opportunity  presenting,  we  cross  the  road,  and  circle 
around  the  mansion  (to  avoid  the  dogs  we  had  heard  bark 
during  the  day)  to  the  cabin  of  a  negro.  Halt!  listen! 
Voices  within  —  negro  voices.  The  writer  selected  a  small 
pebble  from  the  ground,  and  tossed  it  through  the  dark- 
ness toward  the  door.  It  struck  against  the  door  with 
a  loud  crack.  The  door  was  softly  opened.  A  voice, 
"Who  dar?"  "It's  friends,  aunty,"  said  the  writer; 
"  come  to  the  fence."  "Who  is  you?"  said  she.  "Come 
out  and  see,"  was  the  response  ;  "  we'll  not  harm  you." 
She  hesitatingly  approached  the  fence,  and  was  informed 


32  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

in   a   whisper,    "We   are   Yankees,   aunty."     "Is   your 
sah?     [Peering  at  our  uniforms  closely.]     De  Lord  bles& 
you,  sah !    Hi,  hi !  —  and  hab  yon  done  got  away  from  our 
folks?"     "Yes,"  came  the  response,  "and  we  are  wet 
through,  and  very  hungry.     Can  you  help  us?  "     "I  jes& 
can  ;  but  dar's  a  white  gal  in  dar  now.     When  she's  done 
gone,  I'll  call  you,"  she  said.     We  trusted  her,  and  our 
confidence  was  not  misplaced.     We  waited  half  an  hour,, 
when  we  were  electrified  by  the  announcement,  "  She's- 
done  gone,  and  I'se  got  some  supper  for  you."     We 
entered  the  humble  hut,  and  there  was  spread  for  us  her 
offering  to  the  cause  we  represented.     Wheat  biscuits  — 
glorious !  warm  corn-bread  —  luxurious  !   fried  apples  — 
excellent!  raw  apples  —  golden!     Nothing  prevented  our 
enjoyment  to  the  utmost  of  our  capacities,  which  seemed 
almost  unlimited,  save   an   occasional    remonstrance   by 
our  teeth,  which  had  become  somewhat  sensitive  after 
our  free  indulgence  in  blackberries.     Lybyer  had  retained 
his  haversack,  and  the  writer  had  none.     "Take  dis  yere 
one,"  said  our  benefactress,  presenting  a  worn  and  greasy 
Confederate  haversack.    "Oh  thank  —  thank  you ,  aunty, ' ' 
replied  he,  grasping  the  coveted  "grub-bag"  eagerly. 
Near  midnight;    a  glorious  fire  on  the  humble  hearth; 
clothes   drying   nicely ;    boots  drying  on   the   feet  —  if 
taken  off,  no  assurance  of  ability  to  replace  them.     We 
grow  cheerful  under  the  "limbering-up  "  process.    Inqui- 
ries :   "About  thirty  miles  from  Atlanta."     First  Yankees 


OF   THE   WAR.  33 

ever  seen ;  would  find  negroes  all  friendly ;  if  caught, 
might  be  killed.  Rebs,  "grand  rascals;"  —  "no  'pen- 
dence  on  'em."  Our  implicit  confidence  in  the  negroes 
became  a  settled  fact.  We  counted  on  their  indispensable 
assistance  at  the  beginning ;  failing  to  obtain  it,  we  knew 
the  effort  to  reach  our  lines  would  prove  futile.  Con- 
sultation of  maps  and  compass ;  filling  of  haversacks ; 
expressions  of  gratitude  ;  farewell ;  "  De  Lord  bless  you- 
uns ; "  departure. 

Our  plan  was  formed  to  adhere  to  a  north-easterly 
course,  avoiding,  or  at  least  independently  of,  roads  and 
-settlements,  and  reach  the  Northern  Georgia  Railroad, 
which  extended  from  Atlanta  to  Augusta,  near  Lithonia 
or  Covington,  over  thirty  miles  distant,  and  attempt  to 
follow  the  iron  conductor,  as  closely  as  circumstances 
would  permit,  westward  toward  Atlanta.  To  approach 
Atlanta  directly  would  be  a  foolish  attempt  to  pass  through 
the  lines  of  both  armies ;  our  aim  was  to  pass  around  the 
Confederate  right  flank  and  into  the  Federal  left,  in  which 
attempt  we  anticipated  the  necessity  only  of  avoiding 
detached  bodies  of  rebels,  foragers,  stragglers,  or  scouts, 
which  generally  select  the  flanks  of  their  respective  armies 
for  their  operations  and  observation,  and  where  we  con- 
sidered the  chances  about  equal  in  opportunities  to  conceal 
ourselves  from  Confederates  and  to  disclose  to  Federals. 
North-eastward.  Mud !  mud !  mud !  The  rain  had  ren- 
dered the  ploughed  fields  almost  impassable.  Boots,  which 

3 


34  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

had  seemed  to  defy  efforts  to  pull  off,  now  seemed  to  test 
our  ability  to  keep  on  or  to  pull  out.  But  roads  must  be 
avoided  ;  the  direction  must  be  maintained ;  the  north-star 
must  be  to  the  left  of  our  front  continuously ;  each  step 
must  place  us  one  step  further  north.  But  all  the  fields 
were  not  ploughed,  and  relief  was  frequently  afforded  by 
reaching  alternately  pasture  and  woodland.  At  inter- 
vals we  forded  refreshing  streams  of  water,  gratefully 
exchanging  the  surplus  weight  of  mud  for  that  of  water. 
So  we  marched,  trudged,  stumbled,  occasionally  tearing 
our  way  through  clinging,  affectionate  brier-patches ;  but 
we  were  buoyant  with  hope,  and  strong  with  the  first  im- 
pulses of  freedom.  The  woods  possessed  an  impenetra- 
ble darkness,  and  all  nature  seemed  at  rest.  The  solem- 
nity was  broken  only  by  the  "  voices  of  the  night,"  and 
the  occasional  baying  of  distant  watch-dogs.  How  did 
we  maintain  our  direction  while  in  the  woods  ?  Why,  we 
had  a  pilot  —  a  pilot  that  was  bribe-proof,  obeying  only 
nature  and  nature's  God  —  the  little  compass.  How  did 
we  see  the  needle  in  the  dark?  The  same  nature  that 
influenced  the  needle  provided  a  light  which  illumined  its 
surroundings  within  the  compass.  How?  By  sending  it 
through  the  night  air,  inviting  us  to  accept  it.  In  what 
shape  ?  In  the  shape  of  harmless  little  fire-flies  — ' '  light- 
ning-bugs." Each  successive  captive  fly  crawling  over 
the  glass  of  the  little  military  compass  rendered  the  val- 
uable services  required  of  him,  and  was  released  from 


OF   THE   WAR.  35 

duty,  unharmed,  after  the  capture  of  his  successor.  Shin- 
ing mercies;  valuable  allies;  light  to  our  gloomy  path- 
way; friendship  enkindled  to  endure  through  life:  no 
injury  shall  befall  any  of  your  kind  through  me  ;  no  harm 
shall  be  threatened  without  my  interposing  plea  in  your 
behalf.  We  reach  a  grand  old  oak  near  the  centre  of  a 
pasture,  and  wellnigh  exhausted  we  cast  ourselves  upon 
the  damp  grass  and  stretched  our  weary  frames. 

A  brilliant  conundrum  here  provoked  some  discussion,, 
in  spite  of  surroundings:  "Why  are  we  like  the  com- 
pass?" repeated  the  writer.  "I  can't  imagine.  Let's 
see;  is  it  because  we  are  made  up  of  brass  and  point?" 
"No,  no,"  was  the  reply;  "'cause  we're  pointing 
north."  Dead  silence.  Lybyer  smiled  the  smile  of 
original  genius.  "But  the  needle  points,  not  the  com- 
pass," suggested  the  writer.  "Well,"  ain't  the  needle 
part  of  the  compass?"  asked  the  other.  "Yes,"  was 
the  reply;  "still,  it's  only  the  needle  that  points. 
Then  we're  only  like  a  part  of  the  compass,  eh?" 
"The  most  important  part,"  he  rejoined.  "  Then  your 
conundrum  is  not  well  put,"  said  the  writer,  exultingly. 
"Well,"  said  he,  "say  needle  for  compass."  "Still 
you  would  be  lame,"  replied  the  writer ;  "for  we  are  not 
pointing  north,  but  directly  north-east."  A  united 
laugh.  Slumber  touched  our  weary  eyelids,  and  we  slept. 
An  hour  passed ;  we  awoke.  That  sleep !  Apprecia- 
tion of  the  sufferings  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  after  his  twenty- 


36  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

years  slumber.  Rheumatics  —  refractory  joints  —  diso- 
bedient muscles  —  death-like  chill  —  invitation  to  despon- 
dency—  terrible  pains.  Onward  march;  fields,  woods, 
mud,  streams  passed,  and  warmth  returns  to  our  chilled 
bones.  The  morning  light  is  breaking,  and  the  record 
of- 

July  28th  opens.  The  frequent  crowing  of  cocks  in 
various  directions  indicates  a  village  or  settlement.  We 
reach  the  border  of  large,  swampy  woods ;  determina- 
tion to  u  anchor  "  there  for  the  day.  We  climb  over  a  high 
fence,  press  through  the  marsh,  and  seeking  a  dry  eleva- 
tion, establish  headquarters  for  the  day,  happy  in  the 
contemplation  of  gorging  ourselves  with  the  luscious 
watermelon  which  the  writer  had  stumbled  against  en 
route,  and  had  clung  tenaciously  to  for  miles  of  the 
weary  night's  march.  What's  that?  Hounds,  as  we're 
alive  !  yelping  and  howling  upon  our  pathway  across.,  the 
adjoining  fields.  Nearer  and  nearer.  From  elevated 
positions  on  stumps  and  saplings  we  observe  the  howling 
brutes  following  our  path.  Now  they  are  at  the  fence, 
and  where  we  climbed  over.  No  followers  ;  must  be  en- 
deavoring to  create  an  excitement  on  their  own  responsi- 
bility. Now  their  distressing  howls  penetrate  through 
the  forest,  reechoing  like  a  dismal  wail.  Headquar- 
ters no  longer  considered  tenable ;  hasty  leave ;  rapid 
transit;  swamp;  water  knee-deep  ;  a  stream.  Glorious! 


OF    THE   WAR.  37 

Down  it  we  go,  waist-deep  in  its  shielding  waters, 
about  three-quarters  of  a  mile.  Dry  land  again. 
4 'That's  the  only  way  to  hide  scent  from  those  bloody 
brutes,  Lybyer,"  said  the  writer,  almost  breathlessly,  and 
still  clinging  like  grim  death  to  the  prized  watermelon. 
"Listen!  "  The  brutes  have  passed  the  fence,  and  are 
howling  on  our  path  through  the  timber.  Now  a  dismal 
chorus  of  unearthly  howls  resounds  through  the  woods. 
"They  must  have  struck  headquarters,"  said  Lybyer, 
breathing  heavily.  On  they  rush,  howling  and  bellow- 
ing, to  the  stream,  whose  protecting  waters  had  conveyed 
all  traces  of  the  timid  adventurers  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  keen  noses  of  the  brutes.  Up  stream,  and  down 
stream,  and  across  stream,  howling  and  wailing,  while 
two  weary  and  drenched  mortals  stood  with  trembling 
anxiety  awaiting  the  test  of  the  experiment.  The  sounds 
became  more  infrequent  and  lighter ;  they  ceased. 
Friendly  stream !  without  thee,  and  a  knowledge  of  thy 
virtue,  how  might  the  happy  result  be  changed.  "  Those 
dogs  have  been  used  to  huntin'  niggers,  I'll  bet,"  said 
Lybyer,  breathing  freer,  and  bunglingly  attempting  to 
wring  the  lower  parts  of  his  pants.  "They  seemed  sav- 
age enough  to  eat  us,  without  regard  to  color,"  replied 
the  writer.  "Darn  lucky  escape,"  added  Lybyer. 

We  discover  another  "island;"  reestablish  "head- 
quarters;" listen  long  and  attentively;  settle  down  for 
the  day.  Slight  fall  of  rain.  A  disrobement,  and  double 


38  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

strength  applied  to  twisting  our  wardrobes.  "Twist  for 
me  and  I'll  twist  for  you."  Rain  ceases.  Glorious  sun- 
light streams  through  the  thick  foliage,  with  golden 
lustre,  and  myriads  of  lingering  crystal  drops  sparkle  and 
flash  like  diamonds  in  the  tree-tops.  Beautiful !  Higher 
arose  our  genial  friend  "  Old  Sol,"  and  two  half -clad  and 
tired  refugees  gladly  basked  in  the  warm  rays. 

"Breakfast,"  called  the  writer.  "Come,  L}^byer, 
we're  going  to  cut  a  watermelon."  A  rusty  knife  brought 
into  requisition;  a  struggle;  a  victory.  The  water- 
melon opened;  invited  a  feast  (?).  "I  don't  believe 
that's  a  watermelon,"  said  Lybyer,  rather  facetiously, 
gazing  at  the  two  parts  of  the  prize.  ' '  What  ?  Maybe 
you  never  saw  this  kind  before,"  replied  the  writer, 
suddenly  realizing  that  Lybyer  was  right,  yet  unwilling 
to  acknowledge  it  abruptly.  (I  never  was  so  taken  in 
in  my  life,  thought  he  silently.)  "Kind?"  said  Lybyer, 
"That's  the  kind  we  used  to  call  gourds  in  Indiana." 
The  "  secret  "  was  out.  "Why  don't  you  eat  it,  Lieuten- 
ant ?' '  inquired  L. ,  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye.  ' '  Have 
a  piece?  "  asked  the  writer,  evasively,  passing  half  to  L. 
"  No,  thank  you,"  said  he  ;  "  don't  eat  melons,  'cept  for 
dessert."  "The  main  objection  to  this  melon  is,  it's 
green,"  said  the  writer,  feigning  disappointment.  "  Them 
kind  's  always  green,"  chimed  in  L.  "All  watermelons 
are  always  green,  you  know,"  said  the  writer.  "All  of 
'em?"  inquired  L.  "How  about  the  ripe  ones,  then?" 


OF   THE   WAR.  39 

*'  Ripe,  yet  always  green — on  the  outside,"  said  the  writer, 
looking  merrily  full  into  L.'s  face  for  a  recognition  of 
brilliancy.  "Oh  yaas,  that  way,"  said  he,  unapprecia- 
tively.  "  Now,  this  thing  is  green  inside  as  well  as 
outside  —  unfit  to  eat,"  and  the  two  halves  were  tossed 
to  one  side  contemptuously  by  the  writer.  It  is  often  the 
case  with  woman's  love,  but  the  man's  in  this  instance 
had  "clung  like  ivy  to  a  worthless  thing."  More  sun- 
light enabled  both  to  enjoy  the  sunny  side  of  the  joke. 

More  stripping,  and  wringing,  and  hanging  to  dry. 
That's  all  right;  we  were  born  this  way;  but  still,  don't 
want  to  be  caught  this  way.  Dry  and  don  is  the  rule. 
Each  sleeps  and  watches  alternately ;  draw  cuts  for  first 
sleep ;  each  sleeps,  each  watches  three  hours ;  writer's 
watch  common  property ;  two  heads  decidedly  better  than 
one.  Writer's  turn  to  watch;  L.  snores  like  the  "  seven 
sleepers,"  —  make  it  eight.  Sounds  of  breaking  limbs 
in  the  distance ;  two  piercing  eyes  peering  at  us  from  the 
foliage  ;  hog  approaches  ;  quite  neighborly  ;  grunts  ;  curi- 
ous ;  nearer.  Ah,  the  "watermelon."  Quite  welcome, 
sir.  Craunching  and  grunting ;  history  of  "watermelon," 
as  a  whole  or  in  halves,  ended ;  treated  also  to  cracker- 
crumbs ;  encourage  company;"  visitor  all  right;  won't 
tell  tales.  Hum  "Rock  of  Ages. ' '  Hogs  like  "music ;" 
enchanted ;  motionless  as  a  statue ;  a  grunt ;  queer 
brutes  ;  strong  prejudices  ;  headstrong  ;  anti-German ; 
Jewishly  inclined;  pork  —  ham  —  bacon  —  lard  —  pigs' 


40  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

feet — sausage  —  head-cheese.  Three  porker  companions 
reenforce  the  first  discoverer ;  all  seem  fond  of  hymns. 
Any  relief  from  the  dull  drag  of  the  weary  hours  accept- 
able. Dogs  barking;  cocks  crowing.  Must  be  near 
somebody's  plantation. 

Hark!  Yes;  a  low,  rumbling  sound  in  the  distance. 
Cannon !  Continued  distant  sullen  rumbling.  That 
sounds  business-like.  [It  was  Hood's  sallying  attack  on 
the  old  Army  of  the  Tennessee,  which  changed  position 
from  the  extreme  left  to  the  extreme  right  of  the  Federal 
lines.  Result,  six  hundred  and  forty-two  left  dead  on  the 
field  before  in  completed  entrenchments  in  process  of  con- 
struction, and  a  speedy  and  bloody  repulse.  It  was- 
Hood's  last  mad,  vain  attempt  to  raise  the  siege  of  Atlanta, 
and  to  free  himself  from  the  tightening  grasp  of  Sher- 
man's veteran  army.  Thousands  of  his"  best  infantry 
were  lost  in  the  persistent  attempt  to  escape  the  inevit- 
able.] 

Listen  to  that  harmony  of  human  voices  in  the  other 
direction,  —  the  plaintive  songs  of  negro  field-hands 
returning  from  work.  How  melodious,  yet  how  mourn- 
ful 1  How  in  keeping  with  the  present  delicious  calm ! 
What  strange  contrast  with  the  sweet  notes  of  nature's 
warblers,  as  they  sport  among  the  tree-tops,  enjoying  the 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun !  A  glimpse  of  the  western 
horizon.  Unparalleled  beauty;  marvellous  brilliancy! 
The  heavens  aglow  with  golden  light;  crimson  and 


OF    THE   WAR.  41 

purple  and  gold  exquisitely  and  inexplicably  blended ; 
silvery-lined  clouds  floating  in  happy  relief  against  the 
blazing  glory  beyond  them,  and  fiery  rays  streaming  far 
upward  into  the  heavens ;  fantastic  forms  of  cloudy 
images  sporting  before  the  enchanting  beauty  as  if  in 
ecstasy,  bathing  in  the  golden  flood  of  evening's  sunlight. 
"Lybyer,"  said  the  writer,  "just  look  at  that  sunset; 
did  you  ever  see  the  equal  of  that?"  L.  peeped  through 
the  foliage  a  moment,  and  turning  away,  muttered,  "  Have 
just  as  pretty  ones  in  Indiana."  "Maybe  they've  got 
another  sun  there,"  said  the  writer,  perhaps  a  little 
sharply.  L.  remained  silent. 

Preparation  for  the  march ;  dry  as  a  chip ;  eager ;  we 
must  make  tracks  lively  to-night ;  time  is  precious. 
Hark!  a  voice,  "  Whoa,  Dolly !  whoa,  Dolly!"  Not  for 
us.  Carefully  creeping  toward  the  fence,  and  peeping 
through  the  shrubbery,  the  writer  beheld,  only  a  few 
yards  distant,  an  individual  endeavoring  to  catch  his 
mare  ;  slouch  hat — coatless  —  long  hair  —  thin,  sharp  fea- 
tures—  Roman  nose — goat  beard  —  veritable  Southern 
type  —  no  questions  —  no  acquaintance  desired.  Man 
mounts  animal  and  departs.  Almost  ready;  comforta- 
ble ;  happy  in  the  anticipation  of  rapid  strides  homeward. 
Distant  rumbling:  cannon  or  thunder?  Lightning, 
thunder  —  nearer,  heavier  —  terrible  crashes  ;  lightning 
vivid,  blinding;  preliminary  breezes,  preceding  great 
drops.  Crushed  hopes ;  blighted  prospects  ;  Egyptian 


42  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

darkness ;  floodgates  open ;  torrents,  torrents,  torrents ; 
summarily  drenched  to  the  skin ;  ardor  cooled :  sunlight 
of  hope,  storm  of  despair.  No  use  waiting;  all  right. 
North-eastwardly  through  the  descending  torrents  ;  mud, 
slippery;  fields,  pastures;  stumbling  through  dark, 
wet  woods  ;  compass  ;  fire-flies  ;  direction.  Awful  dark ; 
can't  keep  together ;  novel  expedient ;  take  hold  of  my 
coat-tail ;  better.  Stumbling  over  logs  and  stumps ; 
tearing  through  briers  ;  butting  against  saplings  ;  feeling 
along.  Two  hours  passed;  so  has  the  storm,  so  are 
the  woods.  Open  field ;  good  time  ;  rapid  walking.  By 
all  that's  holy,  what's  that?  Suddenly  heavy,  unearthly 
sounds  fill  the  air.  We  stand  as  if  petrified ;  hearts  in 
throat.  A  large  drove  of  hogs  suddenly  aroused, 
"Hoff!  hoff!  hoff!  "  and  a  great  rushing  and  running, 
creating  noise  sufficient  to  be  heard  across  the  field. 
What  a  fright ;  so  unexpected.  We  knelt  where  we  were, 
awaiting  the  possible  result  of  the  unseasonable  uproar. 
No  alarm ;  march  resumed.  Midnight.  Indistinct  out- 
lines of  large  tree  in  centre  of  a  pasture  invite  us  to  rest 
beneath  its  branches.  We  accept.  Clothes  wet ;  ground 
wet ;  every  thing  wet.  But  we  are  too  tired  to  proceed 
further ;  we  droop  at  the  foot  of  the  friendly  oak,  and 
are  soon  both  fast  asleep.  Haversacks  for  pillows  ;  a  cold, 
cold  sleep.  Awakening ;  terrible  sensation  ;  joints  glued 
together;  desperate  struggles;  determined  efforts;  pluck. 
On  our  feet  again.  Victor}7!  No  warmth.  We  limp 


OF   THE   WAR.  43 

north-eastwardly ;  walk;  warmer;  good  time.  Reach  a 
thick  forest;  feel  along  its  border  for  road,  path,  or 
opening.  None ;  tempus  fugit;  penetrate  the  gloomy 
woods ;  black ;  imagination  feels  the  darkness ;  stumb- 
ling—  down,  up;  down,  up.  It's  disagreeable  and 
painful  to  fall,  but  it's  comforting  to  be  able  to  rise  after 
each  fall.  Bushes,  undergrowth,  logs,  stumps,  briers, 
trees  wet.  Their  presence  proved  only  by  contact; 
eyes  as  useless  as  spectacles  to  a  mole.  Limb-snapped 
faces,  sore  shins,  torn  faces  and  hands,  disordered 
clothing.  Rather  monotonous  taking  the  lead,  "bear- 
ing the  brunt;"  necessity,  however.  Lybyer's  cav- 
alry jacket  is  tailless ;  lucky  fellow ;  way  broken  for 
him;  but  a  frequent  "  ouch!  "  indicates  that  he  too  has 
stubbed  a  toe,  snapped  an  eye,  struck  a  shin,  or  caught  a 
brier.  "Direction?"  a  halt  for  observations ;  listen! 
No  earthly  sound  save  the  voices  of  the  night  and  our 
own  whisperings.  Where's  our  guide  (fire-fly)?  Aban- 
doned us;  the  deserter.  "A  pretty  fix;"  heart  of 
Georgia  forest ;  stars  obscured ;  very  dark ;  danger  of 
making  exit  where  we  entered,  to  realize  we  have  en- 
dured and  spent  our  failing  strength  to  no  purpose.  De- 
lightful surroundings  ;  pleasant  prospects  ;  a  consultation  ; 
a  rest. 

Look  behind.  The  heavens  are  lit  up  with  a  lurid 
glare.  A  fire!  another!  another!  Three  fires;  miles 
distant ;  our  cavalry  at  work.  Proposition  to  turn  back 


44:  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

voted  down.  Must  be  our  boys ;  but  where  would  they 
be  when  we  could  reach  the  fires  ?  Fires  miles  apart,  indi- 
cate a  circling  around  toward  the  Confederate  right  flank  ; 
but  will  they  continue  to  circle  ?  or  will  they  be  driven  or 
turn  back,  or  go  still  further  south?  Our  boys,  sure, 
among  the  rebel  wagon- trains,  depots,  mills,  and  railroads. 
No  sound  of  conflict  or  skirmish.  No  u  blue-coats " 
warming  themselves  at  those  fires  now.  Wish  they'd 
come  nearer.  Brighter ;  red  reflections  cast  upon  the 
dark  clouds  away  up  in  the  heavens,  lighting  up  the 
gloomy  earth  and  sky  like  the  fading  colors  of  closing 
day ;  a  bloody  sky.  Wish  we  were  in  the  open  —  could 
see  better.  Can  almost  see  the  needle  of  the  compass. 
Alas  !  not  quite.  Backs  to  the  fading  lights.  Onward ! 
Partial  but  sufficient  repetition  of  recent  experiences  in 
progress.  The  fires  render  use  of  eyes  possible. 

Hist !  another  fire  in  advance  of  us.  Can  it  be  pick- 
ets? Plan  of  approach.  Halt!  listen!  On,  step  by 
step ;  no  sounds  —  refugees  sleeping  around  the  em- 
bers of  a  fading  camp-fire  —  on  all  fours.  Peculiar  fire  ; 
right  on  it  —  ought  to  hear  snoring  —  silent  as  death. 
We  arise.  No  pickets  —  no  refugees  —  no  sleepers  —  no 
danger  —  nothing  but  a  decayed  log  and  its  scattered 
pieces  innocently  phosphorescing  in  its  vain  attempt  to 
brighten  the  surrounding  gloom.  Substitute  for  fire- 
fly—  application  to  compass.  Needle  pointing  northward, 
as  usual ;  but  we  are  not  pointing  north-eastward, 


OF   THE   WAR.  45 

as  usual.  We  were  not  "turned  completely  around;" 
but  we  were  not  travelling  according  to  programme  — 
that's  sufficient.  New  pilot  —  phosphorus.  Heavens 
brighten ;  woods  less  gloomy ;  trees  seen  indistinctly. 
Pilot  not  as  accommodating  as  the  former ;  far  less 
ability.  Brighter  still  —  morning  gray.  Excellent  time  ; 
rapid  progress  —  break  ahead  ;  the  contemptible  forest 
cleared.  Daybreak.  Wonder  how  many  miles  we  made 
last  night  through  that  aggravating  net-work. 

Glory,  hallelujah!  nothing  but  a  rail  fence  separates  us 
from  a  veritable  watermelon-patch  —  remember  the  last 
"  watermelon."  A  charge  —  a  capture  ;  investigation  of 
interior  of  a  fine  one.  O  luscious  product  of  the  vine ! 
Oh,  yum-yum  !  Deplorable  limited  capacity.  Talk  about 
table  etiquette,  and  indelicate  sounds  while  eating  soup. 
Just  listen  at  Lybyer.  (Expect  L.  is  thinking  same 
thing  about  me.)  Really  difficult  to  tell  who's  making 
the  most  of  that  indecent  racket.  Two  countenances 
hidden  —  buried,  and  revelling  in  the  luscious  delights  of 
stolen  sweets.  Another,  and  another.  "  Why  is  eatin' 
these  like  eatin'  soup  with  a  fork?"  "  Give  it  up  ;  yum- 
yum  !  "  said  L.  "Hard  to  get  enough  of  it!"  United 
laugh ;  fortune  had  allayed  caution.  The  morning  sun 
now  shone  beautifully  on  — 

July  29. — Arms  and  "otherwise"  full  of  watermel- 
ons. Cautious  retreat;  slow  movements  not  caused  by 


46  A  PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

lameness  entirely.  Inviting  blackberry-patch;  " head- 
quarters;" berries  large  and  sweet;  pearly  rivulet.  Al- 
most paid  to  endure  the  perilous  passage  through  the 
tangled  wildwood  by  night,  to  reach  such  happiness  as 
this  in  the  morning ;  consolation.  But  do  people  go 
blackberrying  in  this  country?  Improbable;  bushes  too- 
full  of  past-ripe  berries ;  marshy  spot  this ;  more  invit- 
ing localities,  especially  after  rain.  "Anchor,"  subject 
to  further  orders,  for  the  day.  Avenue  of  escape  in  case 
of  danger?  The  rippling  little  stream  beside  us — we  can 
crawl  up  or  down  unseen.  But  what  if  surprised  now? 
Escape  impossible.  Crawl  up  stream?  Why,  we  can't 
bend  over.  Run?  Why,  we  can  hardly  walk.  We  couldn't 
even  surrender  gracefully.  Two  old  women  armed  with 
blackberry-baskets  could  readily  take  us.  We  couldn't 
even  "  explain  " — "too  full  for  utterance."  "Dinner" — 
Soup:  L'eau  de  terre  (a  la  ripple).  Baked:  Pain  de 
ble  (a  la  mush).  Entree:  Melon  d'eau,  red.  Dessert: 
Confederate  berries  (a  VAfricaim).  Ample  for  a  king 
under  like  circumstances.  Composed ;  stripping  ;  wring- 
ing, drying  process.  Alternate  "picket-duty."  Taking 
observations  of  day  sounds ;  plantation-houses  out  of 
sight,  but  within  hearing.  Bread  rations  gone ;  deter- 
mination to  "  draw"  a  further  supply,  or  fail  in  the  at- 
tempt. 

Evening.     Rumbling  of  numerous  wagon-wheels  near 
by  ;  must  be  a  road  ;  the  ' '  mansion  ' '  must  be  on  that 


OF   THE   WAR.  47 

road,  and  the  humble  huts  of  sable  friends  must  be  in 
rear  of  the  mansion.  What  road  is  that?  Maps,  com- 
pass consulted.  It  must  be  the  main  road  leading  east 
and  west  from  McDonough.  Are  we  east  or  west  of  that 
to-be-avoided  town?  That's  the  question;  unsolved. 
Twilight ;  preparation ;  departure  in  single  file.  The 
well-worn  road  reached  and  crossed ;  cautious  passage 
beside  the  road  to  approach  and  ascertain  relative  positions 
of  high  and  low  dwellings;  object  accomplished.  The 
usual  circuitous  performance  brought  us  to  a  fence  which 
separated  us  only  a  few  feet  from  the  negro-cabins.  De- 
termined to  trust  to  negroes  again,  and  to  make  the 
second  test  of  fidelity  to  the  cause  we  represented. 
Listen !  All  quiet.  A  silent  approach  to  a  hut ;  scaling 
the  fence  that  separated  us ;  a  peep  through  a  friendly 
crevice  ;  a  negress  and  a  white  lady  sitting  silently,  calmly 
gazing  into  the  royal  log-fire  on  the  hearth.  A  large  dog 
now  came  snuffing  the  air  around  the  cabin,  and  observing 
the  writer,  barked  furiously  at  him.  A  skip  —  a  bound  — 
a  leap  —  fence  cleared,  and  a  double  retreat  to  a  neighbor- 
ing peach-orchard  —  rest.  Another  approach  to  another 
cabin  —  end  cabin;  more  cover  for  retreat.  The  writer 
cast  a  small  pebble  over  the  fence  against  the  door. 
Crack!  it  sounded.  No  response;  experiment  repeated; 
great  commotion  within  the  cabin ;  shuffling  of  feetr 
and  general  bustle.  Two  or  three  negresses  ran  from  the 
cabin's  opposite  door  or  window  toward  the  "big 


48  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

house."  Negro  cautiously  approached  the  fence.  "Un- 
cle, uncle,"  said  the  writer;  "here,  we're  Yankees." 
"  Uncle  "  shook  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind.  "  De  Lord  bless 
us,"  said  he,  "  is  de  rest  comin'  ?  "  "  Hope  so,  uncle," 
said  the  writer.  ' '  Are  you  friendly  ?  "  "  Lor'  yes, ' '  said 
he ;  "  we's  all  friendly,  sho."  The  immediate  importance 
of  overtaking  and  quieting  the  timid  negresses  who  had 
sped  toward  the  "big  house"  was  impressed,  and  fleet 
feet  carried  information  which  transformed  fear  into  curi- 
osity. The  fugitives  silently  returned ;  the  exciting  news 
spread  quickly  from  cabin  to  cabin ;  a  group  of  sable 
admirers  stood  awe-stricken  before  real,  live,  veritable 
Yankees.  First  Yankees  seen.  "  Such  beau'ful  uni- 
forms !  "  "  Such  nice  gemmen !  "  Too  much  commotion 
here ;  retreat  to  heart  of  peach-orchard  suggested,  and 
executed.  Prime  object,  something  to  eat.  Men  fol- 
lowed us  to  our  retreat ;  women  remained  in  cabins  to 
vie  with  each  other  in  preparing  and  presenting  ele- 
gant repasts.  Glorious  prospect.  Peach-orchard  retreat 
reached.  Questions  —  explanations  —  congratulations  — 
antics  —  admiration.  Women  approaching  stealthily,  one 
by  one,  bearing  warm  biscuits  (elegant),  sweet  fried  bacon 
(grand),  hot  corn-coffee,  "'lasses  sweet'nin'  "  (coup-de- 
grace).  Did  ever  such  fortune  overtake  such  forlorn 
creatures  before?  Their  enlarged  ideas  concerning  the 
Yankee  and  his -capacity  found  illustration  in  the  amount 
of  these  offerings.  They  seemed  to  provide  enough  to 


OF    THE  WAR.  49 

feed  a  full  company  of  infantry.  We  crammed  and 
stuffed  ;  full.  Questions  curious,  absurd,  and  ridiculous  ; 
ideas  right  on  the  main  question  —  woefully  contorted  on 
some  of  the  incidentals.  The  war,  slavery,  freedom, 
Lincoln,  Grant,  Sherman  —  almost  eve^thing  and  every- 
body. 

News.  One  of  our  friends  who  has  been  in  the  "big 
house"  returns  almost  breathless,  and  imparts  the  infor- 
mation that  the  Yankees  have  burned  Lovejoy's  Station 
on  the  Atlanta  and  Macon  Railroad,  twenty  miles  south 
of  Atlanta,  and  were  momentarily  expected  on  the  road 
we  had  just  left,  en  route  to  the  Federal  left  flank. 
Glorious  news  ;  beaming  countenances  ;  congratulations  ;. 
dancing  for  joy!  "When  was  the  station  burned?" 
4 'Last  night,"  the  messenger  replied.  "We  saw  the 
fires,"  chimed  in  L.  "  What  command  —  did  you  hear?"" 
asked  the  writer.  "Command  of  Mr.  Sherman,  I 
reckon,"  replied  the  messenger,  not  comprehending  my 
meaning.  "I  mean,  who  was  the  head  one  of  our  boys 
at  Lovejoy's?  "  repeated  the  writer,  simplifying.  "  Oh, 
dat,"  said  he;  "why  I  heerd  de  white  folks  talkin'  'bout 
Mr.  Kilpatrick's  calvary  comp'ny.  Oh,  dey's  comin'  sho  ; 
I  can  a'most  feel  'em  now."  Maps,  compass;  great 
excitement.  Negro  cabins  deserted,  may  attract  attention 
of  white  folks.  "  No,  no, —  hi,  hi! — dey's  too  sceered." 
Caution  cautioned ;  plan  of  action ;  the  road  to  be 
watched  all  night.  "George"  is  to  take  us  in  charge 


50  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

and  guide  us  to  safe  cover  within  one  hundred  }^ards  of 
the  road.  Haversacks  overstuffed  with  the  remains  of 
our  royal  repast ;  comforting  quilts  furnished  in  abun- 
dance by  friendly  hands.  Negroes  not  "on  duty"  to 
return  to  respective  cabins  and  remain  quietly ;  secrecy 
and  safety.  We  arose  to  execute  the  plan ;  surrounded 
by  dusky  friends,  who  handle  and  investigate  clothing, 
caps,  boots,  complimenting  every  thing,  of  course,  in  the 
highest  terms.  Bather  diffident  in  the  company  stood  a 
modest  creature,  whom  the  writer  now  recognized  as 
the  "  white  lady "  he  had  seen  while  peeping  through 
the  cabin's  logs ;  question ;  confirmation ;  poorly  clad, 
but  very  beautiful;  white,  yet  accounted  "black;" 
worse  still,  a  slave.  Conversation ;  manifestly  much 
pleased  at  my  preference  and  attention;  "house-girl;" 
intellectually  towering  high  above  her  crude  companions ; 
fine  features  —  Grecian — no  African  trace;  fair,  rounded 
face ;  large,  lustrous,  brown  eyes ;  form,  so  far  as  can  be 
judged  through  rags,  a  model  for  the  sculptor.  How 
natural  the  conclusion :  blood  of  the  master  reduced  to 
slaveiy.  If  we  could  only  stop  here  ;  if  slavery  were  all ; 
if  absolute  dominion  were  out  of  consideration.  To  the 
slave,  beauty  is  a  blighting  curse.  The  richer  the  gifts 
of  nature,  the  swifter  and  surer  the  demolition  of  chas- 
tity by  beastly  "  proprietors."  Owned  —  "  bought  with 
a  price  "  —fiendish  traffic  in  one's  own  flesh  and  blood  ; 
repulsive  thoughts.  "Civilization."  "How  long?  How 


OF   THE   WAR.  51 

long?"  The  question  is  being  answered  daily  by  the 
distant  rumbling  of  Federal  cannon,  and  nightly  by  the 
lurid  glare  that  paints  the  Southern  sky.  We  also  here 
again  listen  to  the  "stories"  told  the  blacks  by  the 
whites  concerning  the  horrid  mental  and  physical  natures 
of  the  Yankees.  Many  of  them  are  too  ridiculous  even 
to  repeat,  and  all  of  them  disclose  desperate  efforts  to 
conceal  the  truth  by  vainly  attempting  to  strengthen  the 
superstitions  of  the  ignorant.  Rational  explanations. 
Reception  and  supper  decidedly  warm.  Grateful  "good- 
night" to  our  variously  colored  friends.  "George." 
"  Headquarters"  for  night;  midnight  retirement;  quilts 
great  luxuries ;  glorious  slumber  in  the  woods.  Day- 
break, sunlight ;  still  we  slumber. 

July  30.  —  Quite  early  this  morning  we  were  regaled 
by  the  sounds  of  heavy  cannonading  Atlantaward. 
Never  appeared  so  close  nor  so  distinct  as  now,  since 
taking  our  leave  of  that  doomed  city.  The  sounds  of 
the  great  guns  roll  heavily  through  the  morning  air, 
creating  quite  a  martial  spirit  at  "these  headquarters." 
[It  was  the  Federal  batteries  shelling  the  stronghold.]  A 
stream  of  clear  water  —  must  be  the  same  upon  which  we 
*8  encamped"  yesterday  in  the  distant  blackberry-patch. 
Luscious  wash.  Breakfast,  as  is  one,  from  our  haver- 
sacks. Where's  George?  Strange  absence;  faith, 
hope.  Take  extra  precaution  ;  prepare  for  emergencies. 


62  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

we  shift  "headquarters"  to  another  position,  com- 
manding view  of  the  former ;  also  concealing  ourselves 
from  view  of  any  venturer  upon  the  well-beaten  path 
extending  near  by  our  retreat.  First  night  of  rest  since 
capture ;  animal  spirits  returned ;  even  disposed  to  be 
frisky;  strong  as  a  regiment.  Noon;  no  tidings  —  no 
appearance  ;  conjectures  —  misgivings  —  late  afternoon. 
Writer  left  L.  on  guard,  and  cautiously  proceeded  to  the 
stream  near  by,  for  water  and  wash.  At  the  stream — un- 
consciously too  near  a  path.  Commotion  and  shouting. 
The  writer  quickly  looked  up  in  the  direction  whence 
came  the  sounds,  and  saw  a  cow  coming  rapidly  down  the 
path  on  a  run ;  a  dog  was  descried  following  the  cow, 
and  two  white  boys  were  following  the  dog.  To  fall  back 
toward  headquarters  would  result  in  almost  certain  expo- 
sure—  no  time  to  think  —  immediate  action.  "  Sic  her  I 
sic  her!"  shouted  the  boys.  The  writer  ran  into  the 
thickest  part  of  the  woods  ;  the  cow  saw  him,  and  left  the 
path  to  follow  so  good  an  example  —  persistent  follower ; 
race  long  and  exciting ;  curving  around  tree-clusters  — 
darting  through  thickets — Yankee  —  cow  —  dog  —  boys — 
a  fence ;  glorious  partition  —  at  it,  over  it  in  a  twinkle  ; 
corn-field  retreat — awaiting  developments.  Gratified  that 
the  mandate  "Sic  her,"  still  continued  unchanged  to 
"Sic  him."  The  dog  forced  the  cow  from  the  fence, 
and  the  race  continued,  minus  the  "leading"  character. 
The  contrary  brute  turned  homeward,  and  soon  the 


OF    THE   WAR.  53 

sounds  of  the  chase  ceased.  Fool  cow — sagacious  dog — 
astute  (?)  boys — protecting  fence — fortunate  escape — 
hasty  return  to  headquarters  —  half  mile.  L.  all  right. 
Tale  of  adventure;  lucky  —  laughter  —  tired. 

Evening.  Through  the  thick  foliage,  stepping  cau- 
tiously, half  crouching,  we  descry  a  human  form  ap- 
proaching our  former  quarters.  Lying  flat  upon  the 
ground,  we  silently  watch  the  stealthy  movements ;  black 
face  —  confidence.  He  looked  at  the  marked  tree,  and 
then  at  our  recent  bivouac,  and  seemed  nonplussed.  He 
peered  mysteriously  in  various  directions  ;  we  arose  —  he 
discovered  and  approached  us  —  it's  George  ;  "brought 
little  lunch ' '  —  thoughtful  George.  ' '  Thanks. ' '  Living 
high  now.  "What's  the  news?"  Explanation — the  Fed- 
erals had  not  arrived,  but  some  of  the  rebels  had,  and 
stopped  at  the  "big  house"  —  colored  folks  crestfallen. 
Becuperated  —  refreshed  —  restless  —  determined. 

Late  evening.  Peach-orchard ;  supper  No.  2 ;  repe- 
tition of  first,  with  warm,  veritable  apple-pie  added.  (Ye 
epicures. )  A  feast ;  profuse  expressions  of  gratitude  ; 
filling  of  haversacks ;  many  a  ' '  God  bless  you ;  "  a 
hearty  farewell,  and  under  the  guidance  of  George  we 
were  conducted  to  the  main  Decatur  road  extending 
northward  to  Decatur,  six  miles  west  of  Atlanta.  "  Lit- 
tle travelled  ;  safe  to  proceed  cautiously  on  this  road." 
Whispered  gratitude — silent  hand-shaking;  George  re- 
turns. We  proceed  on  the  road  cautiously  northward, 


54  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

rapidly,  silently,  single  file.  Plan  of  procedure:  The 
writer  constituted  the  "  advance  guard;  "  L.  comprised 
the  "rear  guard."  Any  approach  to  either  end  of  the 
"column"  was  to  be  communicated  to  the  other  by  the 
casting  of  a  pebble,  in  which  case  the  alarming  end  was 
to  unite  with  the  other  for  consultation;  distance  be- 
tween "detachments,"  forty  feet.  This  method  consid- 
ered best.  ,Two  make  more  noise  than  one  ;  no  unneces- 
sary talking  —  hear  better. 

Lybyer  deserves  more  particular  mention — necessary  to 
assist  reader  in  fully  comprehending  situation.  He  was- 
very  tall,  disproportionate  —  not  agile,  sluggish  —  mild- 
mannered  —  honest  —  dull  —  inexperienced  —  indiscreet  at 
times,  careless  —  full  appetite — enjoys  sleep — sometimes 
morose  —  lacks  nerve  —  tractable  —  stumbles  —  steps  on 
dry  limbs,  kicks  rocks,  noisy  getting  over  fences  ;  apolo- 
gizes—  "can't  help  it;"  does  his  best,  not  to  blame ; 
excited  in  presence  of  danger  —  good-natured  —  carries  a 
leathern  "valise"  on  each  foot  —  makes  his  companion 
nervous  and  doubting,  especially  when  silence  is  the 
great  desideratum  —  companionable,  welcome,  agreeable,, 
trustworthy — desirable,  except  in  the  presence  of  danger, 
when  solicitude  extends  to  foes  and  friend  alike  —  rather 
prone  to  —  But  we  all  have  our  faults  and  weaknesses,, 
and  by  casting  a  glance  within,  can  find  sufficient  food 
for  contemplation,  relieving  of  the  assumed  necessity  of 
dwelling  upon  the  failings  of  others,  even  though  the 


OF    THE    WAR.  55 

failings  be  presented  interwoven   among  recognitions  of 
worth. 

Still  northward  —  rapid  marching — several  miles  gained 

—  a   little    fatigued.     Small,    abrupt   rise    in    the    road; 
abrupt  fall  immediate!}7  beyond  it.     Sufficiently  advanced 
to  obtain  a  view  of  Walnut  Creek  bottom  —  a  fire  by  the 
roadside.    Warning  pebble  apprizes  L.  of  danger.    Halt! 
Observation  —  gurgling   waters  of    the  creek  —  brighter 
blazing  of  the  fire  —  Federals,  refugees,  or  rebels?     L. 
placed  in  concealed  position  beside  the  road,  while  writer 
attempts   a    reconnoissance  off    the  road ;    cautious  ap- 
proach—  wagons  —  stacked  arms  —  sentry  in  road,  lazily 
pacing  to  and  fro  —  company   sitting  around  fire,  chat- 
ting— dialect  decidedly  Southern  —  sentry  approaches  fire 

—  shining  rifle-barrel,  glistening   buttons,  gray  uniform. 
That's  sufficient.     A  silent  return  to  L.  ;    disclosure  of 
the  information,  "They're  rebs !  "     Departure,  with  in- 
tent to  circle  around  a  difficulty  which  we  would  not  at- 
tempt to  remove.     Crossing  fields,  we  reach  in  safety  the 
creek  several  yards  below  the  fire  —  quite  a  creek  —  dash- 
ing waters  —  friendly  sounds  —  noise  of  stream  favorable 
for  our  purpose.     A  slight  elevation ;  screen  of  foliage  ; 
quiet  observation  —  wagon-guards.     Too  near  the  creek  ; 
log  crossing ;  up  and  down  the  stream  to  find  safe  crossing  ; 
none  —  too  deep  to  ford,  too  swift  to  swim.     Whispering 
consultation ;    the  log    crossing   our  only  present   hope. 
"  What !  "  said  L.,  "  over  that  log?  "     "  It's  a  risk,  but 


56  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

what  else  can  we  do?  "  asked  the  writer.  "  We  can't  stay 
here  long  thinking  about  it,  either."  Desperate  plan  — 
fortunate  miniature  roar  of  the  current.  "We'll  have 
to  go  right  by  'em,"  said  L.,  recalling  the  fact  of  danger. 
"  Well,  the  stream's  racket  will  help  us,"  said  the  writer ; 
"and  we  must  get  over  as  soon  as  we  possibly  can,  con- 
sistent with  safety."  Perfection  of  plan  ;  writer  ahead,  L. 
following  some  fifteen  feet  behind  —  on  all-fours  —  cau- 
tious —  slow  progress.  Halt !  listen  !  On !  Fire  blazes 
up  —  light  shining  now  full  in  our  faces  —  end  of  the 
coveted  log  in  view ;  underbrush  foliage  only  separates 
it  a  few  feet  from  the  group  around  the  fire ;  fire  blazes 
still  brighter.  (Really  believe  I'd  get  out  of  this  if  I 
could  ;  as  much  danger  to  u  back  "  now,  as  to  go  ahead.) 
Log  didn't  seem  so  uncomfortably  near  before  we  ap- 
proached—  bushes  didn't  seem  half  so  small  from  dis- 
tance. We  crawl  to  protecting  shadow  of  small  bush,  and 
lie  and  listen.  Lybyer  doing  exceedingly  well ;  moves  with 
me,  and  halts  with  me.  Only  an  occasional  slight  crack- 
ing of  limbs  and  twigs,  but  harmless  in  the  noise  of 
rushing  waters.  End  of  log  almost  within  reach,  yet 
how  many  "miles"  away!  Reconsideration;  great 
risk  —  ugly  customers  —  thoughts  of  cold,  damp  slum- 
bers on  the  open  ground  ;  determination  —  snail-like  prog- 
ress —  end  of  log  reached.  Listen !  Above  the  sounds  of 
the  noisy  stream,  the  writer  heard  the  voice  of  one  of  the 
guards  relating  a  story  to  his  companions  seated  around 


OF   THE   WAR.  57 

the  camp-fire.  Separated  from  recapture  now,  only  by  a 
few  feet  and  the  shielding  foliage  of  a  clump  of  bushes, 
through  which  streamed  the  lurid  light  of  the  fire.  The 
story — a  ivoman  in  the  case,  as  usual  —  hope  it's  a  long 
story,  and  interesting.  There's  that  sentry  nearing  the 
group,  evidently  to  get  the  point  of  the  tale  —  glistening 
rifle-barrel.  Wonder  how  Lybyer's  making  it?  Won't 
wait  to  hear  the  upshot  of  the  story  —  trust  the  others 
have  more  interest  in  it.  Rebs  rolled  in  blankets,  sleep- 
ing near  fire  —  army  wagons  —  foragers  —  wagon-guards 
—  hardly  ten  feet  distant;  could  almost  reach  that  officer's 
hat!  Over!  over!  ''Suppose  I  should  be  overtaken  or 
met  on  this  ominous  log  ?  ' '  Over  the  centre  of  the  splash- 
ing waters,  and  while  waiting  to  witness  L.'s  perform- 
ance, silently  filled  canteen  from  the  stream  below.  L. 
moves  like  a  snake  upon  the  log,  and,  in  a  manner  admir- 
able, progresses  northward,  reaching  the  writer.  No 
longer  snail-paces ;  we  arise  and  foot  it  rapidly  to  the 
other  shore — safe !  well  done  ;  whispering  mutual  admira- 
tion and  congratulations.  More  caution. 

But  enemies  and  danger  suddenly  sprang  from  an  un- 
expected source.  The  horses  which  were  tied  to  the 
wagons  had  taken  the  alarm,  and  exhibited  decided  evi- 
dences of  great  uneasiness  ;  pawing  the  ground  and  snort- 
ing loudly  —  pricked  ears  toward  our  side  of  the  stream. 
A  glance  at  the  group  convinced  us  that  their  attention 
had  been  attracted  to  the  conduct  of  the  animals,  and 


58  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

was  now  directed  across  the  creek !  No  time  to  waste  — 
action  —  steep  rise  before  us—  thick  growth  of  under- 
brush— up  we  glide,  as  rapidly  as  safety  permitted ;  brisk 
walk — half-way  up  —  sudden  cracking  and  snapping. 
Alas!  L.  had  selected  a  route  of  his  own,  and  was  en- 
tangled, apparently  hopelessly,  in  a  brush-heap ;  the 
struggle  continued  unabated  —  L.  manifestly  desperate  ! 
The  listening  Confederates  now  sprang  to  their  feet,  some 
seizing  their  rifles  —  demolishing  the  regulation  stack  of 
arms  which  had  graced  the  picture,  glistening  in  the  red- 
dened glow  of  the  fire,  and  bearing  satisfactory  evidence 

*. 

of  military  training.  The  sentry  in  the  road,  in  a  half- 
whispering  voice,  hurriedly  uttered  something  to  his 
aroused  companions,  and  came  to  the  water's  edge.  Now 
they  all  seem  to  stand  with  ears,  eyes,  and  mouths  wide 
open,  gazing  up  on  the  hillside,  apparently  wondering  what 
could  mean  the  occasional  cracking  sounds  still  continuing. 
Two  now  stand  at  the  end  of  the  log,  holding  above  their 
heads  large  burning  brands  which  cast  a  flood  of  light 
upon  the  hillside  —  villainous  persistency  —  darkness 
turned  to  day  —  to  move  would  certainly  betray  our  posi- 
tions and  invite  a  rifle-shot.  Now' 11  come  a  challenge ; 
it  will  be  ruin  to  respond,  it  may  be  death  to  refuse  to 
respond — no  pathway  out  of  this  scrape  visible.  Respond, 
4'  A  friend  ;"  'twill  cause  momentary  hesitation,  at  least ; 
then  run  the  other  way,  and  take  the  remaining  chances — 
will  act  on  that  suggestion  —  tormenting  glare  — light  as 


OF   THE   WAR.  59 

day  —  very  awkward  extremity  ;  one  arm  drawn  carefully 
and  slowly  upward  in  the  attempt  to  conceal  the  face,  the 
other  twisted  in  the  attempt  to  interpose  it  between 
glaring  Confederate  eyeballs  and  a  suggestive  row  of 
glittering  Federal  coat-buttons  —  motionless  as  the  neigh- 
boring oak ;  daring  to  watch  opposite  movements  with 
but  one  eye,  and  that  partially  concealed  behind  elbow 
wrinkles  of  blue  cloth ;  subdued  sounds  from  the  brush- 
heap,  but  no  challenge.  What  can  that  mean?  Those 
fellows  can't  be  regular  soldiers  —  so  much  the  worse  for 
us,  if  caught.  Here  comes  a  fellow  with  a  fresh  brand 
blazing  over  his  head  —  he  is  crossing  the  log,  brand  in 
one  hand,  rifle  in  the  other ;  another  approaches  the  log, 
rifle  in  hand  —  sentry  standing  in  road,  "  arms,  port." 
Still  no  challenge,  no  shot — "green  troops;"  time  for 
action  here.  A  loud  whisper :  u  I/ybyer,  save  yourself  " — 
an  abrupt  turn,  a  leap,  and  the  writer  bounded  up  the 
hillside,  joyfully  disappointed  at  not  realizing  the  dreaded 
expectation  of  a  shot  and  a  whizzing  bullet.  A  sudden 
additional  cracking  of  dry  limbs,  and  L.  was  also  free, 
and  making  excellent  time  up  the  hillside.  We  united  on 
the  level  field  above,  and  without  following  the  terrible 
example  of  "  Lot's  wife,"  ran  as  fast  as  frightened,  hope- 
ful fugitives  could  run,  —  not  directly  northward,  and 
away  from  the  recent  scenes,  — not  in  the  direction  which 
would  naturally  invite  pursuit,  —  but  circled  around,  even 
to  the  extent  of  reaching  the  bank  of  Walnut  Creek  again, 


€0  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

less  than  a  mile  below.  A  rest ;  almost  breathless  ;  water ; 
narrow  escape.  ''Thought  we  were  gone,  one  time," 
said  L.  ;  "when  that  fellow  came  over  with  his  torch." 
Congratulations — warnings  —  compass — fire-flies — direc- 
tion—  forward  —  steady  marching,  without  interruption, 
until  overtaken  by  the  morning  gray  of  — 

July  31.  — Scan  surroundings  for  favorable  spot  to  re- 
establish ' '  headquarters. ' '  We  never  select  such  spot  with 
a  view  to  comfort,  or  because  beautiful,  or  elevated,  or 
dry  —  safety  is  the  prime  consideration,  before  which  all 
others  must  yield.  Large  brier-patch  selected  —  small 
stream  gushing  through  it;  we  trample  down  the  thick 
vines,  and  appropriate  a  few  square  yards  for  our  purpose — 
no  deed,  no  license  ;  trespassers  (don't  deny  it)  — black- 
berries in  luscious,  tempting  clusters.  Stealing?  Deny  it ; 
foraging  —  at  most,  confiscation.  Breakfast  from  our 
full  haversacks  (bringing  kind  remembrances  of  our  vari- 
ously colored  friends  on  the  other  side  of  romantic  Wal- 
nut Creek)  and  blackberries.  Where  can  we  be  ?  Maps, 
compass —  conjectures.  Not  a  solitary  domestic  sound  — 
must  be  distant  from  plantation  or  road  —  even  our  little 
feathered  friends  seem  to  have  deserted  us,  and  no 
longer  peer  at  us  from  neighboring  limbs  with  curious 
gaze,  nor  enliven  us  with  their  sweet  songs.  Abandoned — 
drowsy.  For  the  first  time,  by  day,  we  carelessly  omitted 
to  alternately  watch  and  sleep,  and  both  were  soon  sleep- 


OF    THE   WAR.  61 

ing  soundly — tired  out.  When  we  awoke,  after  an  hour's 
sleep,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  its  warm  rays 
penetrating  through  the  thin  protection  rendered  our  posi- 
tion uncomfortably  warm  —  hot ;  retreat  impossible.  We 
find  that  some  relief  is  afforded  even  by  the  scanty 
shade  of  the  briers  around  us,  through  which  we  had 
torn  to  our  present  position  in  the  heart  of  the  patch ; 
smallest  service  is  acceptable.  Thanks. 

"  The  daisy,  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts, 
Protects  the  lingering  dew-drop  from  the  sun." 

Tall,  thorny  " daisies"  these  —  two  innocent  ''linger- 
ing dew-drops" — elongated  comparisons;  alternately 
watching  and  sleeping  remainder  of  the  day.  Dark, 
ominous  clouds  rolled  heavily  in  the  sky,  bringing  even- 
ing's welcome  hour  sooner  than  expected  —  early  start  to- 
night. Threatening  clouds ;  how  they  roll  and  surge ; 
now  cramped  in  contact,  now  swelling  out  and  rising 
like  moving  mountains  —  storm-tossed  ocean  above  us. 
"Water  in  them  clouds,"  said  L.,  looking  upward  pen- 
sively. "  Sublime,"  said  the  other.  "  See  how  they  toss 
and  swell ;  look  at  that  monster  mountain  of  cloud  ;  per- 
fect picture,  with  its  snow-capped  summit,  lofty  brow 
encircled  by  fleecy  clouds ;  and  see  the  raging  billows 
beating  impulsively  against  its  base.  What  sublimity!  " 
"I  don't  want  to  get  wet,"  added  L.,  evidently  enter- 
taining disagreeable  recollections  of  the  past,  and  a 
practical  realization  of  the  present.  Vivid  flashes  of 


62  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

lightning.  See  how  they  disclose  great  cavities  —  how 
they  lighten  deep  caverns ;  how  they  set  forth,  in  bold 
relief,  crags  and  peaks  and  promontories ;  now  dancing 
and  chasing  each  other  among  fantastically  formed  fleecy 
images,  run  fine,  vivid,  fiery  sprites  —  now  sporting  lightly 
with  sunny  crowns,  that  garnish  dignity  —  now  angrily 
flashing  with  a  sudden  glare  among  cloudy  mountain 
rocks,  followed  by  deep,  crashing  tones  of  "  heaven's 
artillery;"  the  earth  trembles;  the  deep-toned  thunder 
rolls  and  reverberates  through  the  heavens,  ending  in 
faint  rumblings  in  the  distant  sky.  "Grand!"  ex- 
claimed the  writer.  "  Don't  see  any  thing  very  grand 
in  getting  soaked  through  again,"  said  L.  "Wish  we 
could  strike  shelter  somewhere  —  another  night's  journey 
spoiled."  Practical  L.  "Let's  seek  shelter,"  said  the 
writer  —  maybe  we  can  strike  a  cabin,  or  a  barn,  or  a  hay- 
cock, or  something  else,  and  keep  dry."  Agreed  —  de- 
parture—  tearing  through  our  surroundings,  and  reaching 
terra  firma.  No  house,  no  cabins,  no  sheds,  no  shelter, 
save  the  trees;  now  "fumbling"  for  the  lost  main  De- 
catur  road  — bearing  in  its  supposed  direction. 

Hark!  rumbling  of  wagon- wheels  —  numerous.  We're 
very  near  a  road  ;  sounds^  approaching  ;  still  nearer;  con- 
cealment —  point  is  to  see,  and  not  be  seen.  Here  they 
come,  —  one,  two,  three,  —  several  wagons  loaded  with 
household  furniture  —  refugees.  Trouble  in  the  air ;  flee- 
ing from  expected  Yankees  —  splendid  surface  indica- 


OF   THE   WAR.  63 

tions.  Their  distress  our  glory  —  they  avoid  what  we 
seek ;  Yankees  common  objects  of  interest,  but  in  oppo- 
site meaning.  Another  and  another  wagon-train  —  three 
trains,  several  wagons  in  each.  Some  commotion  in 
affairs  military  must  be  the  mainspring  of  their  hurry 
and  action  —  men  (a  la  rear-guard)  unarmed,  on  horse- 
back. Great  drops  of  rain  ;  thicker  ;  torrents  —  raging 
tempest ;  of  course,  summarily  wet  to  the  skin — standing 
under  a  huge  oak  for  "  protection."  Writer  looked  at  L. 
through  the  blinding  rain  —  rim  of  his  hat  turned  down, 
and  the  pearly  waters  flowing  off  in  a  circular  cataract 
around  his  dejected  countenance  —  that's  the  advantage 
of  a  hat  —  writer  wears  cap.  A  bid  for  some  recogni- 
tion, by  peering  inquiringly  at  the  hardty  discernible  fea- 
tures beyond  the  miniature  cascade  —  recognition  —  a 
roguish  laugh  for  encouragement  —  response  by  L.  by  a 
silent,  grim  grin.  Half-hour  passes  ;  storm  subsides  ;  all 
nature  dripping  wet. 

We  were  not  aware  of  our  proximity  to  a  path  through 
the  woods,  leading  to  the  neighboring  road,  and  of  course 
could  not  account  for  the  clattering  of  hoofs  over  a  stony 
portion  of  the  path,  and  behind  us.  Sudden  as  a  shock 
appeared,  only  a  few  feet  from  us,  a  horse,  upon  which 
was  mounted  a  woman  —  too  late  to  move  —  too  late  to 
speak.  The  writer  stood  with  back  against  the  old  oak, 
perfectly  motionless ;  L.  suddenly  sprang  behind  the 
same  tree.  The  rider's  attention  was  evidently  attracted 


64:  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

by  the  movement.  She  suddenly  looked,  and  immedi- 
ately her  eyes  met  those  of  the  writer  —  a  surprised  gaze 
on  the  one  hand  —  a  mild,  assuring,  harmless  observation 
on  the  other.  Passing,  she  turned  her  head  and  contin- 
ued the  same  anxious,  inquiring  look  until  lost  to  sight 
amid  the  foliage.  We  listened  —  it  was  the  lady  excit- 
ingly urging  her  steed  to  greater  effort.  "  Now  what?  " 
asked  L.  "  She  saw  us,  sure."  "  Why,  out  of  this  im- 
mediately." "She's  only  a  woman,"  added  L.  "And, 
like  most  other  women,  she  has  gentlemen  friends," 
quickly  added  the  other,  attempting  an  appropriate  finish 
to  the  sentence.  Thoughts  of  possible  consequences ; 
might  not  be  agreeable  to  all  concerned.  Double-quick ; 
clearing  the  timber  —  friendly  blackberry-patch;  briers, 
water,  mud  —  concealed. 

Sounds  of  more  refugee  wagons.  Darkness  without 
deception  —  frequent  distant  flashes  in  the  heavens,  from 
which  came  no  reports,  save  an  occasional  sullen  rumble. 
The  retreating  storm  ;  darker  —  lightning  flashes  vividly; 
sharp  and  irregular  ;  blinding  —  eyesight  rendered  worth- 
less—  brilliant  electrical  display  —  nature's  pyrotechnics; 
rapid,  almost  constant  alternate  lighting  up  of  earth  and 
sky,  and  impenetrable  darkness ;  two  extremes  —  deep 
black  curtain  of  nature,  fitfully  rising  and  falling  alter- 
nately, exhibiting  glaring  revelations  of  indefinite  and 
weird  scenery.  Frogs,  and  crickets,  and  whippoorwills 
unusually  happy  and  correspondingly  noisy  —  dreamy  in- 


OF    THE   WAR.  65 

fluences.  Present  desideratum  —  the  main  Decatur  road  ; 
we  rather  abruptly  left  it  to  our  left  (westward)  at  Wal- 
nut Creek  "  skirmish,"  and  it  must  still  be  to  the  west; 
hence  temporary  new  direction,  north-westward ;  com- 
pass, fire-fly  —  our  course  indicated  and  taken  ;  less  than 
half-hour's  march,  while  feeling  our  way  along  amid  the 
darkness,  rendered  darker  by  the  sudden,  fitful  brilliancy, 
very  damaging  to  eyesight,  we  reach  a  wide,  hardened 
road,  extending  north  and  south.  "That's  it  —  no  road 
^between  us  and  the  main  Decatur  —  must  be  it."  Temp- 
tation to  exchange  chances  in  the  wet  and  muddy  fields 
for  the  hard  road  too  great  for  resistance.  Clothes  wet 
through,  heavy,  muddy ;  misfortune  enough  without  add- 
ing to  it  by  struggling  through  miry  fields  and  gloomy 
woodland,  instead  of  making  rapid  time  on  the  hard, 
well-washed  road.  Tormenting  antics  of  electricity  less 
brilliant  —  thanks.  Give  us  inky  darkness  as  a  welcome 
change. 

Northward,  northward  ;  rapid  strides — no  conversation  ; 
single  file  ;  excellent  time  ;  hope  —  midnight.  Listen ! 
"  What  can  that  be  at  this  hour  of  night?"  It's  hammer- 
ing or  chopping  —  dim  outlines  of  a  house  beside  the  road, 
on  the  rise  of  ground  beyond  the  depression  before  us, 
from  which  the  sounds  proceed.  Male  voices  distinctly 
audible  —  we  cautiously  approach  to  the  little  rippling 
stream  which  crosses  the  road  through  the  depression  — 
quenching  thirst  —  filling  the  canteen  afresh  —  discussing 

5 


66  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

the  situation  in  whispers.  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  '  our 
boys  '  are  in  that  house  ?  possible  that  here  is  the  Federal 
advance  which  caused  the  commotion  among  the  fleeing 
refugees  witnessed  the  evening  before?"  Possible,  prob- 
able ;  yet  caution  —  how  easy  to  be  mistaken ;  danger 
of  over-confidence  in  circumstances  and  appearances. 
Voices  of  men  still  heard  —  hammering  at  intervals  j 
would  willingly  give  the  only  remaining  valuable,  my 
watch,  to  know  the  sentiments  of  those  persons,  or  to  see 
the  color  of  their  uniforms.  Soldiers?  Of  course  they're 
soldiers  ;  no  bodies  of  men  travel  these  roads  but  soldiers  ; 
none  other  would  be  permitted,  if  they  would  travel  them. 
The  magic  power  of  that  great  u  tell-tale,"  the  camp-fire, 
is  absent ;  can't  even  discover  but  a  very  faint  light  in 
the  house  —  probably  the  hearth- fire  for  cooking.  Plan  of 
operations :  L.  to  perform  the  arc  of  a  circle  on  the  side 
opposite  the  house,  leaving  the  fence  here,  circling  around 
and  reaching  the  fence  again  at  a  point  corresponding  to 
present  position  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house ;  the 
other  to  proceed  cautiously  inside  the  fence  to  a  point 
opposite  the  house,  and  endeavor  to  determine  the  mean- 
ing of  the  noises  and  the  color  of  the  uniforms  of  the 
inmates ;  the  one  to  await  the  coming  of  the  other  at  the 
designated  spot.  L.  started  out,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the 
darkness  —  the  other  stepped  cautiously  along  the  fence 
toward  the  object  to  be  attained,  and  reached  a  point 
immediately  across  the  road,  opposite  the  house,  and,  as 


OF    THE   WAR.  67 

subsequent  developments  will  indicate,  silently  rested  his 
arms  on  the  fence  and  listened,  with  eyes  steadily  fixed 
on  the  building ;  no  light  now,  no  sound  —  silent  as  the 
grave.  Looks  like  a  church,  or  anywhere  North  would 
pass  for  a  school-house.  A  sudden  hawking,  or  clearing 
of  a  throat,  on  the  same  side  of  the  road  as  was  the 
listener,  and  within  six  feet  (if  the  paralyzed  senses  could 
judge  of  distance),  drove  the  blood  immediately  to  the 
heart!  The  venturesome  listener  stood  as  if  instantly 
petrified  —  not  a  movement  of  a  muscle,  and  breathless  ; 
helpless,  and  lost  in  absorbing  wonder!  Dumbfounded 
beyond  description,  his  surprised  eyes  now  witnessed  the 
careless  knocking  of  a  pipe  against  the  stock  of  a 
shouldered  rifle,  the  falling  sparks  dimly  revealing  in  the 
darkness  glittering  buttons  and  gray  uniform!  Oh,  for 
one  moment  of  magic  power  to  silently  sink  into  the 
earth !  Slowly  returning  senses.  u  How  did  I  get  here?'" 
How  to  get  away  ;  "wait,  — I  can  do  nothing  but  wait ;  '* 
waited  nearly  one  mortal  minute  —  seemed  an  hour;  no- 
change  in  the  terrible  situation  —  movement  of  the  dreaded 
object  —  it's  only  to  bring  the  butt  of  the  rifle  to  the 
ground,  but  it  created  a  sensation  in  a  quarter  he  least, 
suspected  —  indicates  an  intention  to  stay.  Wonder  if  he 
ever  sits  on  a  fence?  Horrifying  thought !  Waiting  peril- 
ous in  the  extreme  —  departing  equally  perilous  ;  fearful 
dilemma  —  one  horn  a  bayonet,  the  other  a  bullet.  Sur- 
render? Never!  Recapture  inevitable?  Not  until  the 


68  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

very  last  chance,  however  imperceptibly  thin,  has  been 
taken  and  fails. 

Almost  involuntarily  the  form  of  the  adventurer  slowly 
and  silently  sank  toward  the  ground.  The  "  very  last 
chance  "  seemed  to  hang  on  the  creaking  of  a  boot  or 
cracking  of  a  joint.  The  ground  was  reached ;  a  posi- 
tion slowly  attained  on  "all-fours" — a  silent  and  slow 
"heading"  away  from  the  fence;  a  breathless  retreat; 
one  hand,  one  knee  —  one  at  a  time,  feeling  carefully  with 
each  before  pressing,  and  silently  removing  or  avoiding 
twigs  or  other  suspicious  substances ;  and  thus,  with 
gilded  hope  in  every  movement,  and  warning  caution  in 
every  inch  gained,  the  distance  between  the  sentry  and 
the  fugitive  was  slowly  and  surely  lengthened.  More 
distance;  more  hope;  less  caution  —  forty  feet  away! 
The  crawler  arose  silently  and  looked  through  the  dark- 
ness toward  the  fence  —  an  involuntary  shudder  —  short 
distance  —  long  trip  ;  nearly  an  hour  —  nervous  excite- 
ment too  great  —  relapse  ;  head  pillowed  in  soiled  hands  — 
a  slight  fainting  spell ;  only  a  moment. 

"  Where's  I/^byer?  No  telling  what  he  might  think  or 
do."  Approaching  the  appointed  meeting-place  —  halt; 
hark !  whistling.  "  That  must  be  L.  —  right  direction  ;  " 
cautious  approach.  If  separated  by  day,  the  familiar 
whistle  oi  *'  Bob  White  "  was  to  indicate  our  where- 
abouts ;  if  by  night,  the  more  difficult  imitation  of  the 
whistle  of  the  whippoorwill  was  to  be  attempted.  Three 


OP   'THE   WAR.  69 

o'clock  in  the  morning ;  "  Bob  White  "  from  neighboring 
fence  —  hasty  approach.  "  Rebel  pickets  at  that  house !  '* 
excitement  —  unseemly  haste  dismounting  from  fence; 
down  comes  end  of  a  rail  with  a  racket.  "  Fell  off  itself  "" 
(of  course  it  did)  rails  frequently  become  refractory; 
safety  only  in  avoidance  —  ugly  companions  —  not  reliable. 
Rapid  marching;  single-file  difficult  —  road  again;  excel- 
lent time  —  a  fork  in  road;  "  which  is  which?"  maps, 
compass,  fire-flies,  conjectures.  While  in  consultation,  we 
were  aroused  by  approaching  sounds  in  the  road  —  queer 
sounds;  horses  or  men?  Tinkling  of  a  canteen,  indicat- 
ing measured  tread  of  its  owner  —  probably  the  ''relief 
guard  "  marching  to  the  house  on  the  road  —  maybe  for- 
agers, sensibly  preferring  to  march  during  cool  night 
rather  than  during  hot  day.  We  conclude  not  to  permit 
these  night  marauders  to  "  pass  in  review  "  before  us  ;  we 
have  had  excitement  enough  for  present  purposes,  hence 
we  move  rapid!}''  westward  across  the  fields ;  then  north- 
ward, penetrating  and  traversing  thick,  tangled  wood- 
land, and  muddy  fields.  Shortly  before  daylight  we  hap- 
pily entered  woods  of  pine  trees  —  no  brush,  no  briers,  no 
obstructions  of  any  kind  —  rapid  progress  —  pass  small 
hut  —  dog  howls  dismally  at  us  ;  brute  continues  howling 
long  after  we  have  passed  the  object  of  his  faithful  protec- 
tion ;  must  be  a  hound  —  other  dogs  bark. 

Sudden  bright  red  glare  north-westwardly.     (Atlanta!) 
Federals    not   driven    back   yet?      Unaccountable    quiet, 


70  A  PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

however,  considering  that  two  great  armies  are  confront- 
ing each  other.  Puzzling  speculations  —  a  temporary  rest 
in  the  pines ;  we  select  concealed  spot  beneath  protecting 
pine  limbs,  and  stretch  our  weary  bones  on  the  cold,  wet 
earth.  No  news  ;  no  encouraging  sounds  of  cannon  —  omi- 
nous silence  Atlantaward  —  doubts,  fears,  speculations, 
conjectures,  ignorance  —  enemies  in  enemy's  country  — 
thoughts  of  home,  of  friends,  of  companions  in  arms,  of 
chances  of  meeting  them  again,  of  glowing  firesides,  of 
beaming  countenances,  all  in  contrast  with  the  present. 
Raining.  How  hath  the  poet  painted  our  situation :  — 

"  My  life  is  cold  and  dark  and  dreary ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary. 

My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  past ; 

But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary." 

Disconsolate.  At  last  sleep  came  and  touched  the 
weary  eyelids.  The  rain  fell  gently,  dripping  through 
the  pine  limbs  upon  the  slumbering  forms  of  those  who 
lie  dreaming  of  distant  homes  and  warm  firesides.  We 
awoke,  cold,  wet,  stiff,  sore,  and  downhearted  —  very  ex- 
istence miserable.  Surrender  as  prisoners?  No;  unani- 
mously prefer  to  die  in  the  woods  rather  than  take  the 
chances  of  living  in  a  rebel  prison.  To  escape  the  latter 
is  what  we  have  suffered  and  risked  so  much  for,  and  we 
will  continue  to  take  our  chances  of  life  and  of  returning 
to  our  lines,  in  the  woods,  as  cheerfully  as  possible  ac- 
cepting all  the  threatening  consequences. 


OF    THE   WAR.  71 

August  1 .  —  Foggy  —  rations  gone  ;  we  must  seek  as- 
sistance. We  proceed  through  the  lonely  pines,  making 
desperate  efforts  to  get  our  limbs  and  joints  in  working 
order,  yet  never  uttering  a  word.  A  yearning  —  not  for 
food,  not  for  drink,  not  for  comforts,  not  for  the  Federal 
lines,  not  for  warmth,  not  for  friends,  not  for  safety ;  a 
deeper  yearning  for  a  something  which  none  of  these  wants 
could  supply  —  a  longing  for  some  sympathy  ;  some  love, 
to  partially  fill  the  vacancy  in  the  heart ;  a  nearer  rela- 
tionship, a  more  satisfactory  and  closer  communion  with 
the  spirit  form  which  had  seemed  to  hover  near,  en- 
couraging by  its  smiles  and  presence  through  dark,  dis- 
couraging hours,  through  all  dangers  and  hardships  and 
trials,  through  surrounding  gloom.  When  shrouded  by 
disappointment's  mists,  and  when  the  spirit  fainted  under 
the  burden  of  despair,  then  was  the  presence  of  this 
heavenly  spirit  manifested  in  the  strengthening  and  lift- 
ing-up  of  the  drooping  soul.  Yet  there's  a  void  in  the 
heart  like  the  void  in  the  household,  and  the  soul  grows 
weary  in  indefinite  contemplation :  — 

"  Weary,  so  weary  of  wishing 

For  a  form  that  has  gone  from  my  sight: 
For  a  voice  that  is  hushed  to  me  ever, 
For  eyes  that  to  me  were  so  bright." 

How  do  memory's  nimble  fingers  speedily  gather  holy 
impressions  and  associations  of  childhood  and  of  man- 
hood, and  arrange  them  in  crowded  clusters  around  the 


72  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

dearest  of   all  earthly  names.     What  name  is    brighter, 
purer,  holier,  than  that  of  "mother"? 

A  brisk  walk  through  the  pines,  of  about  an  hour, 
brought  us  to  oak  timber ;  we  reach  a  creek  —  quite  a 
river ;  we  cross  on  a  log.  and  select  a  spot  in  the  rather 
open  woods  for  headquarters.  Daylight ;  dangerous  to 
proceed  further  —  dangerous  to  stop  ;  novel  expedient ; 
fortunate  enough  to  retain  pocket-knives,  and  with  their  aid 
branches  are  cut,  and  a  very  deceiving  concealment  impro- 
vised. Breakfast:  corn-bread  mush,  "colored;"  star- 
vation sauce.  Encouragement  —  domestic  sounds;  we 
can  almost  observe  our  requisitions  for  rations  honored ; 
strong  faith;  a  short  trip  of  observation;  expectations 
realized, —  plantation  ;  plantation  without  negro  cabins  and 
occupants  would  be  no  plantation  for  us ;  a  path  through 
woods  nearly  quarter  of  a  mile  distant ;  we  easily  command 
it  —  with  our  eyes;  seems  freshly  travelled.  Repose; 
watching  for  sights,  listening  for  sounds,  alternately ;  at 
least  one  pair  of  eyes  bearing  constantly  on  the  distant 
path  through  the  open  woods ;  at  last  vigilance  was  re- 
warded—  negroes,  apparently  field-hands,  passing;  reso- 
lution to  hail  the  first  sole  negro  who  passes ;  oppor- 
tunity presented  —  rapid  walking  to  head  him  off  —  ap- 
proach —  negro  still  whistling ;  nearer  ;  still  unattracted. 
"  Heigh-ho !  Sam  !  "  He  stopped  as  suddenly  as  if  struck 
with  a  bullet !  a  silent,  steady,  astonished,  inquiring  gaze 
at  the  stranger  in  a  blue  uniform.  "  Come  here,  off  the 


OF   THE  WAR.  73 

path,  Sam,"  said  the  writer,  patronizingly.  "  Sam  "  stood 
as  motionless  as  an  oak  —  a  half-subdued  inquiring  gaze 
was  the  only  response.  "See  here  a  minute,"  said  the 
other,  beginning  to  experience  some  misgivings  about  the 
African.  Half  smiling,  half  doubting,  and  with  a  hesi- 
tating step,  he  slowly  approached.  "  Who  is  you,  sah?  " 
asked  he,  as  if  prescribing  a  condition  precedent  to  fur- 
ther approach.  (Trust;  faith.)  "  I'm  a  Yankee,"  said 
the  other,  looking  intently  into  the  dusky  countenance  for 
an  interpretation  of  possibly  concealed  feeling,  which  the 
illumination  of  the  features  might  be  calculated  to  hide. 
"Fur  troo,  sah?  Lord  bless  my  soul!  Dey  say  de 
Yankees  do  dress  in  blue."  "Yes,  Sam,"  replied  the 
other,  assuringly.  "Can't  you  tell  by  my  speech?" 
"  You  don't  talk  like  none  o'  our  folks,  dat's  shoo.  But  I 
nebber  seed  a  Yankee,  and  dunno."  "Are  you  friendly 
to  the  Yankees,  Sam?"  inquired  the  writer.  "I  is,  sah, 
fur  fact  —  no  mistake,"  he  said  quickly,  with  considerable 
emphasis.  Genuine  sentiment.  "Well,  I  have  a  companion 
near  by  ;  and  we  are  very,  very  hungry.  Can  you  get  us 
something  to  eat?  "  asked  the  other.  "  Wait  a  bit,"  said 
he.  "I'll  go  and  tell  Caesar,  sly,  and  bring  him  to  you." 
"Who's  'Caesar?'"  asked  the  other.  "He's  a  mighty 
big  friend  o'  you  folks;"  and  off  he  started  rapidly 
down  the  path  after  "  Caesar."  Writer  returned  to  L.  — 
caution;  watching;  "Sam"  returns  with  "Caesar"  — 
rude  introduction ;  two  pair  of  eyeballs  entirety  sur- 


74  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

rounded  with  white.  "  Don't  live  'bout  yere ;  belong  to  a 
refugee  named  Darby,  who  is  camping  near."  Rations 
"scace,"  but  willing  to  divide;  unanimous  consent  to 
the  proposition  —  very  hungry.  They  depart;  we  take 
the  usual  precautions  ;  they  return  ;  rations  —  corn  bread, 
good!  hot  bean-soup,  glorious!  apples,  fine!  We  take 
the  "course"  from  top  to  bottom;  sauce  (superior  to 
any  furnished  by  the  finest  first-class  hotels),  hun- 
ger ;  gratitude  —  inquiries  ;  maps  —  compass.  Plantation 
near?  "Yes,  —  Smith's."  "Caesar"  in  the  role  of 
41  envoy  extraordinary"  to  the  "foreigners"  of  Smith's 
plantation  —  will  return  near  evening ;  caution  ;  depart- 
ure ;  evening ;  return — mission  well  performed.  "Smith's 
folks  crazy  to  see  you."  Caesar  to  act  as  pilot  after 
dark;  Caesar  and  Dan  (miscalled  "Sam")  advised  to 
return  to  refugee  teams,  to  allay  any  suspicion  which 
might  have  been  created  by  their  absence,  and  remain 
there  until  after  dark.  The  future  and  the  horizon 
brighten  together. 

"Behind  the  clouds  the  sun  is  shining." 
After-dark  came,  and  so  did  faithful  Caesar ;  we  were 
piloted  to  the  road  near  Smith's  plantation.  Perhaps  over- 
cautious, but  refused  to  venture  further  until  met  and 
assured  by  one  of  Smith's  negroes  —  the  word  carried  — 
return,  and  with  it  came  "  Peyt,"  one  of  Smith's  slaves. 
He  seemed  delighted  to  meet  us.  Peyt's  complexion  was 
as  black  as  the  night;  he  spoke  in  broken  plantation 


OF    THE   WAR.  75 

idiom,  but  expressed  himself  accurately,  and  evidenced  an 
extraordinary  amount  of  uncommon  sense  —  he  proved  a 
cheerful  and  valuable  ally.  In  as  good  language  and  with 
as  graceful  manner  as  possible  he  informed  us  that  a 
"  big  supper"  awaited  us  at  the  cabin  of  his  sister, 
* '  Aunt  Mary. ' '  Accepted  —  trusty  escorts  —  through  an 
orchard  —  circling  around  to  the  cabin-door  of  "Aunt 
Mary.*'  A  peep  in  disclosed  a  room  full  of  curious,  ex- 
cited negroes.  "No,  this  will  not  do  —  too  much  com- 
motion; too  much  risk."  Plan:  post  trusty  young 
negroes  about  fifty  feet  out  on  every  path  and  road  by 
which  access  can  be  gained  to  the  cabins  —  happy 
thought;  plan  executed;  "pickets"  to  report  first  sus- 
picious sound  or  sight  —  entree.  We  were  confronted  by 
a  roomful  of  eager,  gazing  countenances;  expressions 
of  surprise,  curiosity,  wonder,  admiration,  reverence, 
joy,  and  even  fear;  but  "friend"  was  also  stamped 
on  every  face.  Our  admirers  appeared  dumfounded 
as  they  beheld  for  the  first  time  genuine  live  Yankees, 
and  observed  for  the  first  time  rather  worn  samples  of 
the  Yankee  blue  uniforms  casting  in  relief  rows  of 
glittering  Federal  buttons.  Grand  fire  on  the  hearth  — 
makes  the  room  appear  as  light  as  the  day.  Indiscreet? 
Not  while  trusty  "  pickets  "  are  guarding  every  approach. 
A  scent  and  view  of  tempting  edibles  on  the  hearth  made 
us  rather  averse  to  lengthened  preliminaries.  "Aunt 
Mary"  took  the  hint,  and  soon  the  rustic  table  groaned 


76  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

with  evidences  of  her  sympathy  for  us  and  the  cause  we 
represented.  Sweet  bacon,  warm  wheat-flour  biscuits, 
potatoes,  and  some  homely  delicacies  that  stood  well 
the  severe  tests  we  put  upon  them ;  nor  were  we  at  all 
abashed  by  the  steadily  gazing  countenances  surrounding 
us  the  while. 

Supper  over,  and  a  "council  of  war"  proposed  and 
held  ;  maps  and  compass  brought  into  requisition,  greatly 
astonishing  our  spectators.  Anxious  inquiries  ;  explana- 
tions, in  spite  of  which  were  uttered  blank  or  indefinite 
expressions  indicative  of  inability  to  understand  how  the 
Yankees  had  been  able  to  map  out  so  accurately  on  cloth 
this  immediate  vicinity  and  the  whole  country,  with  its 
roads,  railroads,  rivers,  cities,  and  towns.  Explanations 
were  insufficient  to  clear  up  the  mystery.  Determining 
location  —  twenty-four  miles  a  little  east  of  south  from 
Atlanta.  Federal  raids  had  caused  the  Confederates  to 
closely  guard  every  mill  and  cross-road  of  importance  in 
the  vicinity.  The  guards  could  unite  in  the  defence  of  any 
threatened  point,  and  they  also  served  to  prevent  sus- 
pected stampedes  of  negroes  to  the  Federal  lines,  Ne- 
groes who  had  recently  returned  from  the  "front"  re- 
ported that  the  Federals  were  expected  "  in  these  parts 
'fore  long."  The  whites,  however,  professed  an  oppo- 
site opinion.  Pronounced  decidedly  perilous  to  proceed 
northward  —  urged  to  wait  a  few  days  in  safety  until 
further  news  from  our  friends  arrived.  The  proposition 


OF    THE   WAK.  77 

seriously  considered;  L.  votes  "aye,"  strong.  Basing 
action  upon  the  uncertainty  of  the  situation  at  Atlanta 
and  the  certainty  of  danger  ahead,  and  upon  the  fact  of 
weariness,  —  meaning  exhaustion,  —  and  the  liability  of 
falling  into  worse  keeping,  we  concluded  to  remain  en- 
camped near  by  until  possessed  of  further  information. 
The  negroes  clapped  their  hands  with  joy  at  our  decision, 
promising  to  render  any  assistance  possible. 

It  was  now  after  midnight.  The  question  arose  as  to 
where  the  "  elephant  guests  "  were  to  be  concealed.  We 
desire  no  bed.  The  "straw-house"  is  settled  upon  as 
our  resting-place  for  the  remainder  of  the  night.  The 
straw-house  was  situated  on  the  road,  and  formed  con- 
nection with  the  fence  on  both  sides  of  it.  Peyt  and 
ourselves  worked  with  a  will,  and  as  the  result  a  com- 
fortable room  was  made ;  and  with  the  aid  of  rails  and 
planks,  walls  and  ceiling  of  straw  were  constructed,  all  be- 
low the  surface,  yet  above  the  ground.  The  straw-house 
was  built  of  hewn  logs,  which  were  separated  by  spaces 
varying  from  one-eighth  to  one-quarter  of  an  inch.  We 
worked  passages  to  the  sides  of  the  building  through  the 
straw,  and  thus  obtained  both  light  and  air.  There  was 
also  afforded  an  unobstructed  view  of  the  road,  upon 
which  we  frequently  reviewed  squads  of  Confederate 
cavalry  as  they  passed,  —  sometimes  six,  sometimes  four 
or  five,  and  at  other  times  but  two.  As  our  place  of 
observation  was  only  a  few  feet  distant^  from  them,  we 


78  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

were  able  to  closely  inspect  them  from  crown  to  foot. 
Their  expressions  of  countenance  as  well  as  of  voice, 
their  equipments  and  arms,  and  even  the  color  of  their 
hair  and  eyes,  were  readily  noted  as  they  passed  unsus- 
pectingly along.  After  numerous  whispered  speculations- 
as  to  the  situation  and  the  future,  two  tired  "tramps" 
slept  soundly  and  sweetly  in  the  comfortable  quarters  of 
straw  until  the  dawn  of  — 

August  2.  —  Road  well  travelled ;  quite  a  military 
highway.  Squads  of  rebel  cavalry  pass  —  look  sleepy  ; 
must  have  been  on  picket  all  night.  They  have  my  ear- 
nest sympathy — "been  there  myself."  Forage-wagons, 
well  guarded  —  citizen  horseman.  Noon;  "black  ra- 
vens" bring  us  "dinner,"  and  fill  our  canteen  afresh. 
Awful  hot;  perspiration  rolling  off  end  of  L.'s  frontis- 
piece—  dripping  mortals.  Evening's  cool  shadows; 
summoned  by  faithful  Peyt  to  supper  —  dark.  A  few 
trusty  sable  friends  had  been  intrusted  with  the  "  tre- 
mendous .secret,"  which  accounted  for  the  reverential 
side-glances  of  strange  colored  faces  toward  the  straw- 
house  during  the  day. 

At  "Aunt  Maiy's"  cabin  again,  with  the  usual  precau- 
tions of  "pickets"  guarding  every  path.  What!  whyr 
every  sacrifice  has  been  made  to  do  us  honor.  Sweet 
milk?  —  what  a  luxury  !  Fried  chicken ?  —  manna  in  the 
desert !  A  shade  of  sadness  while  contemplating  that  it 


OF   THE   WAR.  79 

was  Aunt  Mary's  old  pet  hen.  If  we  had  only  known  it  in 
advance,  would  have  pleaded  for  her  life  ;  but  since  it  was 
9,  fait  accompli  without  our  knowledge  or  consent,  objec- 
tions are  eminently  out  of  place ;  wouldn't  restore  the 
poor  old  fowl,  to  die  again,  if  we  had  the  power.  "  Please 
pass  the  chicken."  Oh,  flavor  exquisite  of  ancient  rec- 
ollections !  Doesn't  matter  in  the  least  that  the  recollec- 
tions of  the  main  subject-matter  are  more  tender, —  it 
was  never  sweeter.  After  gorging,  we  chatted  pleasantly 
until  near  midnight.  We  soon  discovered  that,  though 
ignorant,  the  negroes  well  understood  the  nature  of  the 
attempt  to  destroj^  the  Union,  and  the  result  of  success 
or  defeat  of  the  Federal  arms  so  far  as  they  were  con- 
cerned. What  they  knew,  coupled  with  what  they  be- 
lieved, made  a  Federal  soldier  almost  an  object  of  worship 
with  them.  Retirement  to  the  straw-house  ;  pilot  ahead ; 
pickets  relieved ;  sound  sleep  —  sweet  rest. 

August  3.  —  More  baggage  or  forage  wagons  —  cavalry ; 
clanking  sabres ;  navy -revolvers.  Who  knows  but  that 
some  fine  morning  or  night  they'll  take  a  fancy,  to  this 
straw?  Now,  why  didn't  we  think  of  that  before?  The 
army  is  short  of  every  thing,  and  at  any  time  "  Old  Shag,'* 
as  the  darkies  humorously  dubbed  Mr.  Smith,  might  be- 
relieved  of  his  straw.  Wish  we  could  get  out  of  this. 
The  thoughts  of  possible  demand  for  straw  for  hospital  or 
other  purposes  rendered  us  exceedingly  uncomfortable; 
then,  to  think  of  an  ignominious  recapture!  Faithful 


80  A  PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

Peyt  and  dinner  (?)  —  call  it  lunch,  then.  After  noon 
Mr.  Smith's  children  came  romping  down  the  road,  and 
selected  a  spot  adjoining  the  straw-house  for  childish  play 
and  prattle  —  lucky  they  can't  climb  up  into  the  straw- 
house.  That  light-haired,  blue-eyed  little  girl  knew  not  of 
the  admiring  eyes  peering  at  her  between  the  logs  of  the 
old  straw-house,  nor  how  near  she  came  (the  innocent  little 
creature)  to  a  brace  of  horrid  Yankees !  Evidently  she 
had  been  taught  to  hate  "the  enemy,"  though  she  could 
not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  war,  nor  realize  the 
significance  of  the  sounds  of  the  great  guns  before  At- 
lanta. She  had  nothing  to  do  with  mighty  principles  rep- 
resented by  great  armies  and  heavy  artillery.  But  her 
cherry  lips  could  part,  and  the  sweet  voice  of  childhood 
could  sing, — 

"  Old  Lincoln  and  his  hireling  troops 
Will  never  whip  the  South." 

This  seemed  her  favorite  song,  and  often  we  heard  her 
sweet  voice  warbling  the  words.  To-night  was  but  a 
repetition  of  last  night.  For  the  reasons  indicated,  we 
concluded  to  occupy  the  straw-house  only  for  sleeping 
purposes,  and  to  retire  at  dawn  to  the  cool  shades  of 
the  neighboring  woods  back  of  the  negro  cabins.  The 
programme  was  executed  safely. 

August  4.  — We  spent  most  of  the  day  in  cutting  and 
preparing  limbs  and  saplings,  and  constructing  a  double 
bower-house  for  our  convenience  and  concealment.  We 


OF    THE   WAR.  81 

so  ingeniously  arranged  dead  limbs  around  it,  that  it 
required  very  close  examination  to  distinguish  it  from  the 
veritable  brush-pile  from  which  it  was  largely  constructed. 
The  sounds  of  great  guns  distinctly  heard  booming  almost 
incessantly  in  the  direction  of  Atlanta.  [Sherman's  long- 
range  guns  were  shelling  the  doomed  city.]  At  inter- 
vals we  also  heard  rumblings  as  if  of  musketry,  but  it 
couldn't  have  been  at  Atlanta  —  probably  some  raiding 
party  nearer  us.  Accompanying  the  "  music  in  the  air,"  is 
an  unusual  excitement.  The  roads  are  filled  with  the  teams, 
of  frightened  refugees,  who,  with  families  and  effects,. 
are  seeking  places  of  safety.  "  What  does  all  this  com- 
motion mean  ?  ' '  The  terror  of  the  natives  was  necessarily 
our  joy  —  cruel,  perhaps,  but  we  could  not  control  the  cir- 
cumstances which  so  fixed  the  facts.  Inquiries  made 
during  the  night  failed  to  account  for  the  agitation  of  the, 
day. 

August  5.  —  Bower-house  quite  an  improvement  on? 
straw.  We  began  to  grow  courageous,  fat,  and  restless  — 
foraging  expedition,  resulting  in  gathering  of  luscious- 
blackberries.  At  noon  we  were  honored  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Aunt  Mary  in  proper  person,  laden  with  a  bounti- 
ful supply  of  warm  corn  bread  and  cow-peas.  Calm, 
beautiful  day.  Most  of  our  time  was  employed  in  watch- 
ing two  little  wrens,  who  heeded  not  the  distinction 
between  the  "  blue  and  the  gray,"  and  who  appeared  to 

6 


82  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

occasionally  hesitate  and  wonder  at  the  mysterious,  heavy 
sounds  of  war  in  the  distance.  At  times  they  would 
approach  us,  limb  by  limb,  from  above,  until  almost  within 
reach ;  turning  their  little  heads,  first  one  side,  then  the 
other,  to  ward 'us,  peering  at  us  with  a  suspicious,  inquir- 
ing gaze,  their  tiny  black  eyes  scintillating  in  the  sunlight. 
They  were  apparently  well  pleased  with  our  compliments 
and  flatteries.  After  thoroughly  inspecting  our  "nest," 
they  busied  themselves  beautifying  and  completing  their 
own  ;  and  all  day  long  it  was  work  and  sing  —  work  and 
sing.  Perhaps  there's  no  lesson  to  be  learned  from  such 
an  observation  —  perhaps  superiority  lies  with  the  inferior 
creature.  To  work  and  fret  seems  to  be  the  peculiar 
tendency  of  man. 

August  6.  — Very  early  this  morning  we  were  awakened 
by  faithful  Peyt  with  "  Wake  up,  gemmen !  Do  you  hear 
that  noise?  De  devil  is  to  pay  dis  mornin' !  "  And  sure 
enough,  the  rapid  peals  of  artillery,  rapidly  increasing  to 
a  continuous  roar,  and  just  at  daybreak,  indicated  that 
something  extraordinary  or  unexpected  had  occurred  ;  and 
our  expectations  were  not  lessened  by  the  fact  that  before 
sunrise  all  firing  had  ceased,  and  silence  became  as  omi- 
nous ns  was  the  thunder  which  preceded  it.  We  anxiously 
awaited  tidings  from  the  road  and  from  the  front,  but 
waited  in  vain,  and  finally  concluded  that  there  had  been 
some  reason  unknown  to  us  why  our  guns  should  thunder 


OF   THE   WAR.  83 

an  extra  morning  salute  to  the  enemy.  We  rambled 
through  the  thick  woods  for  much-needed  exercise. 
Visitors  called  upon  us  to-day — several  negroes  (leaders) 
from  adjoining  plantations,  many  of  whom  had  come  a 
great  distance  to  see  live  Yankees ;  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy and  loyalty ;  true  friends.  The  colored  delegation 
silently  depart,  after  gratifying  their  curiosity;  wishing 
us  God-speed,  and  encouraging  us  to  keep  up  our 
"  sperits. ' '  Later  in  the  afternoon  an  old  dog  belonging  to 
some  of  the  negroes,  called  "  Old  Buck,"  scented  mystery 
in  the  air,  and  slowly  wound  his  way  to  our  bower-house ; 
and  seeming  to  have  solved  the  cause  of  the  mysterious 
movements  of  his  master  and  friends,  sensibly  withdrew 
as  silently  as  they. 

While  ensconced  in  the  woods  in  rear  of  Smith's  plan- 
tation, our  main  dependencies  were  she  whom  all  called 
"Aunt  Mary,"  and  her  brother  "Peyt."  Aunt  Mary  is 
medium  in  size,  rather  slender  in  figure,  and  black  as  the 
night.  Gentle  and  kind,  and  unable  to  do  too  much  for 
her  guests, — of  whom  she  has  voluntarily  assumed  the 
especial  care;  jealous  of  the  attentions  of  others;  "will- 
ing to  work  her  hands  off ;  "  an  excellent  cook.  Her  hus- 
band is  a  slave  on  a  neighboring  plantation,  and  is  permitted 
to  call  on  her  semi-occasionally.  Shrewd  when  occasion 
calls  for  it ;  affectionate  —  very  fond  of  her  children  ;  says 
she  "  thinks  as  much  of  us  as  if  we  were  her  own  chile ;  " 
does  the  milking  for  her  master's  family  —  knows  how  to 


S4:  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

obtain  enough  milk  for  us,  and  yet  leave  the  usual  quan- 
tity for  the  family ;  continually  mindful  of  our  interests  ; 
generous  and  sensible.  "Peyt,"  "own  brother  to  Aunt 
Mary,"  is  medium  size,  stout;  untiring  in  his  efforts  to 
please  and  cheer  us  —  swears  by  what  we  say;  shrewd, 
agile,  and  expert  with  a  rock  —  can  knock  a  hog  down 
with  a  rock,  in  the  dark,  at  an  incredible  distance,  and 
cut  its  throat  before  it  recovers  —  likes  a  big  secret,  and 
also  gazes  wistfully  at  my  watch  —  seems  slightly  jealous 
of  our  civilities  to  other  visiting  field-hands  —  entertains 
us  by  relating  his  wonderful  escapes  from  snakes  and 
blood-hounds  —  knows  all  about  fishes  —  bold  and  kind, 
attentive  and  true. 

Our  bower-house  was  a  model  in  its  style,  and  so  con- 
structed as  to  present  to  every  approach  the  appearance 
of  a  veritable  brush-heap;  the  entrance  was  a  winding 
approach,  to  carry  out  the  deception.  But  alas!  with 
all  of  our  nicety  of  calculation  we  had  failed  to  render 
it  storm-proof,  as  was  demonstrated  this  very  night. 
Just  at  the  close  of  day,  huge  dark  clouds  obscured 
the  sunlight,  and  soon  after,  the  storm  burst  upon  us  in 
sudden  fury !  Rain  fell  in  torrents ;  the  wind  howled 
fearfully  through  the  forest,  and  even  the  aged  oaks  bent 
their  heads  to  the  fury  of  the  gale.  Our  slender  "for- 
tifications" were  speedily  swept  away,  and  strewn  in 
shapeless  debris  about  the  woods.  We  were  summarily 
"wet  to  the  buff,"  and  driven  through  the  deluge  to 


OF   THE   WAR.  85 

the  rear  door  of  Aunt  Mary's  protecting  hut.  She  was 
expecting  us,  and,  as  we  approached,  her  hospitable  door 
opened  to  welcome  us.  Drenched ;  huge  hearth-fire ; 
wringing  out  —  drying.  A  bit  of  news  is  related  to  us 
during  the  process.  A  considerable  body  of  Confederate 
troops  encamped  near  us  to-day.  Confederate  soldiers 
visited  Smith's  plantation,  and  desired  to  purchase  chick- 
ens, etc.  Sagacious  Aunt  Mary  inquired  about  particulars, 
and  ascertained  that  they  would  "move  on"  to-night. 
Their  presence  caused  some  excitement  and  extra  pre- 
cautions on  our  part.  Near  midnight  the  question  arose, 
< '  Where  shall  we  sleep  ?  "  In  the  woods  ?  —  dripping  wet. 
In  the  straw-house?  —  particularly  unsafe.  Aunt  Mary 
declared  we  should  not  sleep  uncomfortable  again,  so 
long  as  she  had  quilts  in  her  cabin.  She  furnished  us 
with  sufficient  bedding,  and  we  constructed  a  pallet  on 
the  floor  of  the  loft  of  the  cabin,  and  sweetly  slept  until 
the  dawn  of  — 

August  7.  —  We  were  awakened  by  the  voice  of  our 
hostess,  calling  in  a  loud  whisper  from  below,  "  Hi,  hi! 
Look  out  on  de  road."  We  peeped  through  apertures, 
and  there  they  were!  We  counted  thirty-five  "butter- 
nuts," well  mounted  and  armed,  passing  leisurely  along 
the  road  eastwardly  toward  the  Confederate  right  flank  — 
not  an  unusual  occurrence,  and  need  not  be  accounted 
for.  Around  us  are  evidences  of  the  severity  of  last 


86  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

evening's  storm,  but  "Old  Sol"  shines  out  this  morning  as 
if  in  surprise  at  the  wrecks  of  the  past  night.  Breakfast ; 
retreat  to  the  woods  ;  demolished  habitation.  How  much 
skill  and  labor  are  required  to  reinstate  our  "  residence  "  in 
our  affections  !  Let's  see  ;  if  our  calculations  are  correct, 
this  day  must  be  Sunday — beautiful,  clear,  and  calm. 
Listen !  no  sounds  save  the  sweet  warbling  of  feathered 
friends  and  the  tinkling  bells  on  peaceful,  distant  pas- 
tures. Friends  —  home!  How  many  are  hoping  and  fear- 
ing on  our  account  to-day?  How  much  or  how  little  do 
they  know  concerning  us?  Do  the}'  think  us  alive,  or 
dead?  We  are  indeed  lost  to  each  other;  hope  alone 
encourages.  Thoughts  of  church,  of  people,  of  hymns, 
of  familiar  scenery,  of  childhood's  scenes  and  events. 
Supreme  luxury  afforded  by  reading  from  leaves  of  old 
books  found  in  the  loft  where  we  "  roosted"  last  night. 
Here  comes  Aunt  Mary  and  attendants,  laden  with  lux- 
uries for  our  enjoyment.  Chicken-pie !  ye  gods,  think 
of  that !  fried  corn,  and  excellent  corn  bread  —  a  repast 
for  a  king.  Refreshments;  thanks.  Sunset  —  flood  of 
golden  light  streaming  through  the  foliage  —  exquisite 
beauty  ;  all  nature  seems  bathing  — 

"  In  the  golden  lightning 
Of  the  sunken  sun." 

August  8.  —  Ennui — spirit  for  adventure  —  nerve  for 
encounter;  impatience.     Peyt  suggests  that  writer  "go 


OF    THE   WAR.  87 

a-fishing  " —  agreed  ;  the  writer  dons  Peyt's  old  hat  and  old 
gray  coat,  and  provided  with  hook  and  line,  under  Peyt's 
guidance,  was  soon  at  "  Cotton  Indian  Creek."  Peyt  re- 
turned, leaving  the  writer  patiently  fishing — patience  reaps 
reward ;  net  result,  four  small  catfish  and  one  mammoth 
eel  —  the  latter  seriously  objected  to  capture.  After 
being  fairly  landed,  he  broke  the  hook  and  made  for  the 
water.  The  writer  seized  the  prize,  and  a  closely  con- 
tested struggle  ensued.  Slipping  from  one  grasp  to 
another,  the  "enemy"  gained  the  water' sedge.  Hands, 
boots,  fish-line,  and  pole  were  brought  into  requisition, 
and  the  monster  was  rethrown  upon  the  bank  and  forced 
to  submit  to  "unconditional  surrender;  "  it  was  demon- 
strated, however,  that  victory  is  not  always  to  the  "slip- 
pery ' '  —  glory  enough  for  the  first  excursion.  The  useful 
remnants  of  the  struggle  were  gathered  with  the  "van- 
quished foe,"  and,  covered  with  the  glory  and  "  slime" 
of  conflict,  the  writer  beat  a  safe  retreat  to  his  "  head- 
quarters." Eel  and  catfish  for  the  closing  meal  of  the 
day. 

August  9.  —  Fishing  is  now  in  vogue  ;  both  L.  and  the 
writer  fish  in  the  creek  to-day.  We  caught  no  fish,  but 
were  ourselves  caught  in  a  heavy  shower  of  rain  —  again 
"wet  to  the  buff;"  return;  welcome  —  drying-out; 
slept  soundly  on  the  forge  of  the  blacksmith-shop  near 
by.  Peyt  appears  with  the  daylight  of  — 


SB  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

August  10, — Warning  us  that  "de  morniu's  yere." 
L.  and  the  writer  again  venture  fishing  —  Confederate  fish 
seem  to  scorn  our  efforts ;  we  return  at  mid-day,  fishless 
and  fish-hookless.  Aunt  Mary's  negro  boy  Wash  awaited 
us,  with  dinner,  and  Aunt  Mary's  regrets  that  it  was  the 
best  she  had.  Wash  is  about  fifteen,  and  seems  never  so 
happy  as  when  he  can  secure  our  attention  to  listen  to  his 
knowledge  concerning,  and  experiences  with,  "snakes." 
He  seems  to  think  that  he  has  "  rights,"  in  the  absence  of 
the  old  folks,  which  we  are  bound  to  respect,  and  give  him  a 
patient  hearing.  We  slightly  encourage  him,  and  while  we 
eat  we  listen  attentively  to  the  boy's  dissertation  on  land 
and  water  moccasins  and  his  hair-breadth  escapes  from  their 
poisonous  fangs.  Wash  eyes  us  intently  the  while,  evi- 
dently eager  to  detect  the  slightest  indication  of  incre- 
dulity ;  but  we  are  all  ears  and  wonderment !  Not  even 
the  most  extravagant  stretch  can  cause  even  a  knowing 
look  to  pass  between  us,  and  Wash  retires,  manifestly 
convinced  that  we  are  solemnly  impressed  with  his  hero- 
ism. Usual  evening  meeting  and  greeting.  A  night's 
rest  in  the  friendly  deserted  blacksmith-shop  —  broken, 
however,  by  the  bellowing  great  guns  in  the  north.  Our 
guns  were  serenading  Atlanta  all  night.  Sherman  is  be- 
fore that  doomed  city,  by  night  as  well  as  by  day. 
Maybe  something  unusual  has  happened  to  cause  the  un- 
usual night  cannonade.  The  first  indications  of  daylight 
brought  the  reliable  Peyt  to  our  "  bed,"  to  warn  us  to 
retreat  early  to  a  place  of  safety. 


OF    THE   WAR.  89 

August  11.  — Retreat  to  the  bower  in  the  woods.  The 
path  through  the  woods  was  well  commanded  from  our 
innocent-looking  "brush-pile,"  and  while  carelessly  look- 
ing in  that  direction,  the  writer  saw  approaching  a  white 
man  in  Confederate  uniform  !  Flat !  flat  on  tbe  ground  — 
eyes  fixed  on  the  approaching  soldier.  He  carelessly  ad- 
vances —  is  now  abreast  —  notices  nothing  —  breathless 
we  ;  he's  past — tally  one  for  the  "brush-pile  " — he  carries 
a  fish-pole  and  basket,  and  is  bound  for  the  creek  —  our 
fishing  is  over.  "Who  could  that  be?"  It  must  be  he 
whom  the  negroes  speak  of  as  "Corporal  Sid,"  Mr. 
Smith's  son,  home  on  furlough  from  the  front.  How  pale 
and  ghastly  he  looked  —  furlough  well  granted.  We  must 
keep  "in-doors"  and  be  all  eyes  and  ears  until  his  re- 
turn—  disappointed  —  he  returned  another  way.  Aunt 
Mary  appeared  with  eels  for  supper.  "Who  caught 
them  ?' '  "Corporal  Sid,  to-day. ' '  The  mystery  explained  ; 
conjectures  correct.  "  I  reckoned  it  would  be  so  queer 
for  you  'uns  to  be  a-eaten  fish  cotched  by  Corporal  Sid," 
said  Aunt  Mary,  with  a  merry  laugh  —  good  joke. 
Demonstrated  that  catching  by  blue  or  gray  does  not 
alter  the  flavor  of  eels — 'Strictly  non-partisan  —  neutral 
and  impartial,  yet  slippery  and  unreliable  —  squirms  like  a 
politician.  And  now,  Corporal  Sid,  if  the  statute  of 
limitations  has  not  barred  your  claim,  charge  us  for 
"fried  eels." 

We  are  made  to  feel  that  we  are  indeed  guests,  by 


90  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

being  informed  that  a  grand  jubilee  is  to  be  held  to-night 
in  our  honor  —  the  only  entertainment  possible.  Early 
evening  —  guests  silently  gather.  Owing  to  the  presence 
of  two  negroes  who  are  ignorant  of  our  presence,  and  who 
are  not  known  to  be  trustworthy,  and  who  have  ' '  big 
mouths"  (talk  too  much),  we  conclude  to  secretly  ob- 
serve the  "  performance,"  concealed  in  a  patch  of  sugar- 
corn —  good  view  —  bonfire  —  all  in  their  best  —  mouth 
music  —  fantastic  motions  —  profuse  perspiration  —  earn- 
estness—  interest  —  carried  away — joy  unconfined  and 
beyond  control  —  general  excitement;  every  muscle  in 
action,  young  and  old —  "  glory  !  glory !  "  .  Genuine,  glo- 
rious jubilee  —  no  counterfeit  of  the  stage  can  equal  or 
truly  depict  this.  This  is  not  for  the  enjoyment  of  audi- 
ences, but  for  the  participants  only.  Therein  is  the  main 
difference  between  the  genuine  and  the  imitation.  The 
genuine  enjoyment  evidenced  by  motions,  sounds,  songs, 
and  features  cannot  be  successfully  feigned  —  rare  treat ; 
thanks  for  the  honor  —  to  our  trusty  friends  a  secret 
and  silent  "  good-night." 

We  slept  soundly  away  into  the  night,  when  the  writer 
was  awakened  by  L.'s  elbow  vigorously  applied  to  his 
side,  with  "  Just  listen  at  that !  "  "  At  what?  "  asked  the 
writer,  half  rising.  tk  Listen,"  said  L.,  while  the  air 
seemed  filled  with  the  dull,  heavy  sounds  of  Sherman's 
artillery !  We  listened  and  conjectured.  Was  it  a  night 
attack?  Was  Sherman  or  Hood  attacking?  How  we 


OP   THE   WAR.  91 

yearn  for  a  sight  of  the  blue-coats.  Listen  !  the  distant 
thunder  of  heavy  guns  —  midnight's  slumbers  broken  by 
dreaded  rumblings  of  war ;  but  the  cannon's  echo,  that 
awakens,  grows  again  familiar  and  lulls  to  sleep.  Break 
of  day. 

August  12.  —  Timely  calling,  and  retreat  to  the  woods? 
Cloudy  again,  — 

"It  seems  like  yesterday  come  back 
With  its  old  things,  and  not  to-day." 

Armed  with  poles,  hooks,  and  lines,  and  being  assured 
of  Corporal  Sid's  confining  illness,  we  determined  again  to 
try  our  luck  fishing,  and  cautiously  repaired  to  the  creek. 
We  had  been  at  the  creek  but  a  short  time  when  Peyt,  like 
a  grim,  dark  spectre,  suddenly  emerged  from  the  thick 
foliage,  and  with  trembling  voice  and  protruding  eyeballs 
imparted  the  information  that  the  Confederate  cavalry 
had  just  notified  Mr.  Smith  (his  master)  that  the  Yankees 
would  be  upon  him  to-day  !  Great  excitement  prevailed  ; 
valuables  were  being  speedily  concealed  —  whites  trem- 
bling with  fear  —  negroes  wild  with  ill-concealed  delight  — 
valuables  will  be  concealed  in  the  woods,  and  ''brush- 
piles  ' '  invite  patronage  —  unsafe  and  imprudent  to  return 
to  our  retreat ;  we  remain  here ;  Peyt  to  proceed  to  the 
"front"  (plantation),  and  apprise  us  of  an}7  change  in 
present  status  —  agreed  —  congratulations  at  prospect  of 
soon  being  "captured"  by  the  blue-coats!  Premature 


92  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

rejoicing  —  the  day  flies,  the  status  remains  unchanged. 
The  evening  comes,  and  disappointment's  mist  surrounds 
us  ;  at  dark  we  return  to  our  bower,  spend  the  evening  in 
allaying  excitement  and  enjoining  caution,  and  sleep  in 
the  woods  till  the  dawn  of  — 

•  Saturday,  August  13.  — We  are  informed  that  Satur- 
days are  days  generally  selected  by  old  men  and  boys  for 
fishing.  Accordingly,  we  abandon  the  idea  of  fishing  to- 
day, and  quietly  remain  "  at  home."  We  are  also  apprised 
of  reasons  for  extra  precautions.  Encamped  in  the  woods 
near  us  is  the  family  of  a  refugee  named  Darby.  In 
fleeing  from  the  Yankees,  he  brought,  with  other  personal 
property,  his  slaves,  among  them  three  boys  (male  slaves 
are  all  "boys").  The  boys  have  failed  to  report  at 
the  camp,  and  are  rated  as  runaways.  The  "young 
bloods"  of  this  community  —  the  "stay-at-homes"  — 
have  organizations  for  the  purpose  of  keeping  the  negroes 
in  subjection,  and  of  rendering  mutual  assistance  in  re- 
ducing to  the  possession  of  the  master  strayed  "personal 
property."  These  gentlemen  are  styled  by  the  negroes 
44  patrollers,"  from  the  fact  that  they  act  as  a  patrol- 
guard  from  plantation  to  plantation,  and  generally  at 
night.  Objects  of  terror  to  the  negroes  —  strange  stories 
of  useless  violence  and  brutality  —  sometimes  masked. 
We  are  earnestly  warned  that  they  will  probably  scour 
the  woods  for  runaways  to-night,  and  perhaps  search  the 


OF   THE   WAR.  93 

cabins  —  frequent  occurrence  ;  dilemma  —  council  of  war ; 
plan :  let  there  be  a  jubilee,  to  invite  the  attention  of  the 
patrollers  from  the  woods  to  the  cabins  —  we  know  not  in 
which  direction  lies  safety.  Night  —  our  position  taken  in 
a  thin  patch  of  sugar-corn  near  the  scene  of  the  jubilee, 
to  see  and  not  be  seen.  The  jubilee  ;  sounds  of  revelry  — 
other  suspicious  sounds  in  the  edges  of  the  woods  —  all 
ears  to  the  rear  —  cracking  of  dry  limbs  —  stealthy  foot- 
falls—  forms  appear;  outlines  just  visible  through  the 
darkness  —  now  we  see,  crouching  and  gliding  toward  the 
scene  of  merriment,  three  human  forms  —  now,  with  de- 
moniac yells,  they  charge  into  the  crowd  of  happy 
negroes.  The  "  boys,"  or  "  bucks,"  scatter  like  chaff  be- 
fore the  wind,  amid  cries  of  4  4  Halt !  halt ! "  i '  Shoot  him  ! 
shoot  him!  "  etc.  Flat  on  the  ground  we,  twenty  feet 
distant,  and  silent  and  motionless  as  fallen  statues  —  the 
women  alone  remained,  and  mutely  received  the  oaths  and 
curses  lavishly  launched  at  their  race  in  general,  and  at 
the  runaways  in  particular.  A  few  "bucks  "  were  clubbed 
in  the  melee,  but  the  abuse  of  the  women  was  only  verbal. 
"Where  was  Mr.  Smith,  the  master  of  the  plantation ?' * 
The  answer  we  obtained  was  that  the  "right  of  search,'' 
with  its  concomitant  brutalities,  was  a  sort  of  common 
courtesy  extended  for  mutual  protection  of  kindred  inter- 
ests. The  runaways  were  at  the  jubilee,  but  were  contin- 
ually on  the  qui  vive,  and  off  like  the  wind  at  the  first 
suspicious  sound.  The  patrollers  hold  a  hurried  consul- 


94  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

tation,  and  depart;  we  cautiously  retreat  toward  the 
bower-house  in  the  woods ;  we  suddenly  came  upon  a 
f ancily  attired  darkey,  a  stranger,  who,  upon  our  approach, 
bounded  off  through  the  woods  like  a  frightened  deer ! 

Faithful  Peyt  cautiously  overtakes  and  informs  us  that 
the  patrollers  were  "Mr.  Darby  and  two  young  gem- 
men"  (stay-at-homes)  —  that  the  danger  is  now  passed. 
We  proceed  cautiously  by  starlight  toward  the  bower; 
approach  it  —  suddenly  we  discover,  lying  behind  a  fallen 
tree,  three  human  forms,  evidently  awaiting  our  approach. 
We  stood  as  if  petrified!  Retreat?  Impossible!  Now 
seemed  a  revelation  of  the  truth  —  the  plan  and  object 
was  to  trap  us,  not  the  negroes.  There  lay  the  three 
armed  trappers  —  with  all  of  our  pains,  that  the  end 
should  come  to  this  —  trapped  at  last !  At  last  the  forms 
move  —  heads  are  elevated.  Will  they  fire  without  a  word  ? 
Will  they  demand  our  surrender?  Delay  gives  hope. 
What  if  their  faces  are  black  ?  Three — ominous  number  ; 
yet  no  sound,  but  we  feel  their  gaze  fixed  on  us  —  recur- 
ring question:  "Black  or  white?"  Impulse  to  speak, 
but  —  one  step  nearer,  and  heads  are  suddenly  thrown  up, 
and  we  meet  the  curious  gaze  of  three  black  faces !  Upon 
the  color  of  those  features  depended  at  least  our  safety, 
perhaps  our  lives.  But  the  mystery  is  yet  unsolved: 
three  strangers  I  We  hail,  confer,  congratulate  —  Darby's 
runaways  ;  more  terrified  than  we  —  they  had  heard  of  us 
through  Peyt.  It  did  not  take  much  argument  to  con- 


OF   THE   WAR.  95 

vince  these  "  boys  "  that  our  safety  required  their  imme- 
diate return  to  their  master.  They  promised  faithfully  to 
do  so  on  the  morrow  —  secrecy  enjoined  and  promised  — 
departure.  We  reached  the  bower  in  rather  a  fretted  state 
of  mind,  but  sleep  remained  a  stranger  to  us  until  near  the 
dawn  of  — 

August  14. — Sunday  again.  "All  quiet  along  the 
lines."  One  of  our  black  "scouts"  brings  information 
that  the  three  ' '  patrollers ' '  held  a  conference  this  morn- 
ing on  the  road  near  the  cabins ;  this  information  set  us 
thinking.  Have  the  runaways  returned  ?  What  if  blood- 
hounds should  be  brought  into  requisition?  "Return,  O 
prodigals,  return  !"  Grave  suspicions — can  it  be  possible 
that  we  have  been  discovered  or  betrayed?  Are  the 
"patrollers"  after  white  game,  instead  of  black?  Un- 
comfortable suggestions.  Toward  evening,  through  an 
abundance  of  caution,  Aunt  Mary  brought  us  our  "din- 
ner and  supper  together."  All  is  subdued  excitement  on 
the  plantation  — she  cautiously  winds  her  way  back  to  her 
cabin.  Dark  —  we  approach  the  cabin  very  cautiously, 
but  are  met  and  warned  by  a  friendly  "  scout"  that  the 
three  patrollers  of  the  evening  before  are  at  this  mo- 
ment in  Aunt  Mary's  cabin!  Why  is  this?  Suspicions 
strengthened  —  white  game  —  we  have  been  betrayed  or 
discovered  —  military  necessity  to  hear  subject  of  conver- 
sation —  writer  nears  the  cabin  and  listens.  Aunt  Mary  is 


96  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

catching  a  severe  lecture  on  the  general  behavior  of  ne- 
groes —  nothing  more  —  suspicions  weakened  ;  * '  scout '  * 
remains  to  watch  and  report  movements  of  the  dreaded 
trio,  and  we  retreat  to  the  bower,  and  each  alternately 
watches  and  rests,  not  to  say  sleep.  Grave  apprehensions 
'  and  well-founded  anxieties  are  not  conducive  to  healthy 
slumber. 

August  15. —  Fishing — splendid  mess  from  somebody's 
fish-basket  or  trap.  Rest  rendered  sweeter  by  informa- 
tion that  Darby's  "  boys  "  have  returned  to  him. 

August  16.  — Fish-basket  empty;  L.  suggests  that  the 
fish  know  that  the  Yankees  set  the  trap.  Oh,  for  a  min- 
iature Confederate  flag  as  a  decoy !  Our  ears  are  regaled 
by  sudden  bursts  of  artillery-fire  directly  westward !  [It 
was  Gen.  Kilpatrick's  cavalry  raiding  at  Lovejoy's  Station, 
on  the  Atlanta  and  Macon  Railroad.] 

August  17.  —  Fishing,  but  fishless.  At  the  cabin  at 
dusk ;  precaution  taken  to  post,  from  seventy  to  eighty 
yards  from  the  cabin,  on  every  approach,  negro  urchins, 
while  little  negro  girls  hovered  around  the  cabin  to  catch 
and  convey  to  us  the  first  alarm  —  trusty,  watchful  pickets. 
We  had  just  seated  ourselves  at  "  supper,"  when  in  came 
the  little  picket  that  had  been  stationed  at  the  road-fence, 
or  gate,  and  excitedly  informed  us  that  "  de  patrollers  "" 


OF   THE   WAIl.  97 

were  silently  sneaking  up  toward  the  path  along  the  fence 
on  the  road !  We  silently  and  cautiously  retreat  to  the 
woods  —  conference.  What  could  this  mean?  Darby's 
boys  returned,  and  the  "  patrollers "  still  out!  Have 
Darby's  boys  betrayed  us  to  shield  themselves?  Bower- 
house  untenable  —  utmost  caution  guards  our  every 
movement  —  we  select  a  position  distant  from  the  bower 
retreat,  yet  commanding  it,  and  at  least  one  pair  of  eyes 
bore  upon  it  through  the  dim  starlight  of  the  long  night. 
No  approach,  no  report,  no  development  —  puzzling 
anxiety. 

August  18. — We  learn  that  the  "patrollers"  quietly 
inspected  the  cabins  and  departed,  speechless.  Appre- 
hensions growing.  Our  plan  is  utmost  caution,  and  await- 
ing developments.  Fishing  alone.  To  doff  the  blue  and 
don  the  gray  will  make  a  bolder  fisherman.  Done ! 
Peyt's  old  gray  coat  accepted  and  worn.  At  the  creek. 
Discovery  —  a  fish-pole  rises  and  falls  over  the  stream  a 
short  distance  above :  the  holder  screened  in  the  thick 
foliage  which  lines  the  creek  —  curiosity  to  see  this  en- 
croaching fisherman.  His  pole  is  withdrawn,  and  sup- 
posing the  holder  will  pass  down  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  stream,  the  writer  selects  a  concealed  position  and 
anxiously  awaits  the  ' '  passing  in  review. ' '  Sharp  crack 
of  a  limb  behind  —  the  writer  turns,  and  there  stands  the 
awaited  personage,  accompanied  by  a  boy  and  a  large 

7 


98  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

dog,  all  steadily  gazing  at  the  writer.  Fairty  caught! 
They  had  crossed  the  creek,  and  descended  on  the  wrong 
side.  Fifty  feet  between  us  —  to  speak  would  encourage 
accent  to  belie  the  gray  coat  —  to  advance,  folly  —  to  run 
would  betray.  Hardly  knowing  what  to  do,  the  writer 
calmly  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  walked  off  in 
rather  a  careless  manner,  whistling  the  "Bonnie  Blue 
Flag,"  almost  unconsciously  turning  to  witness  the 
effect  of  the  movement.  There  stood  the  trio,  with  gaze 
still  fixed  on  the  whistler.  The  man  —  a  heavy,  thick-set,, 
corpulent,  red-faced  gent  —  now  handed  the  boy  his  pole, 
and  deliberately  rolled  up  his  shirt-sleeves  (he  was  coat- 
less).  What  does  he  mean  by  that?  He  must  be  as- 
frightened  as  the  writer!  Does  he  mean  "fight?" 
"  Can't  see  it  —  there  is  no  occasion  for  personal  encoun- 
ter." Whistling  and  retreat  continue.  Direction  of  re- 
treat is  away  from  the  bower,  but  as  soon  as  the  foliage 
concealed  the  writer's  form,  he  circled  around  and 
reached  his  goal  unobserved.  Extra  vigilance,  however, 
was  maintained  throughout  the  night,  on  account  of  the 
writer's  experience  at  the  creek. 

After  dark,  Peyt  appeared  and  induced  the  writer  to 
accompany  him  on  a  raid  to  a  plantation  some  two  miles 
distant — object,  to  u forage  on  the  enemy."  Agreed. 
The  silent  night-march ;  the  ripe  watermelon  patch  — 
luscious  ;  grand  peach-orchard.  After  eating  to  our  entire 
satisfaction,  we  filled  ready  pillow-slips  for  the  benefit  of 


OF   THE   WAR.  99" 

"the  loved  ones  at  home."  En  route  homeward,  we 
rested  under  a  friendly  oak  which  graced  the  centre  of  a 
large  pasture,  and  being  exhausted  by  internal  and  ex- 
ternal burdens,  we  were  soon  in  deep  slumber.  When 
we  awoke,  we  were  at  first  surprised  to  view  the  numer- 
ous pairs  of  glistening  eyes  surrounding  us.  The  pets  of 
the  pasture  had  discovered  us,  and  horses  and  mules  vied 
with  each  other  in  making  near  approaches  to  the  objects 
of  their  curiosity.  At  a  given  signal,  we  suddenly  arose, 
and  the  panic  that  ensued  created  a  realization  of  our 
indiscretion.  Repetitions  of  the  sport  developed  that 
quadrupeds  and  bipeds  alike  enjoy  fun.  Arise!  Take 
burdens!  March!  Shortly  after  midnight  we  arrive  at 
the  only  place  we  can  call  "  home." 

August  19. — Fishing  excursions  unpopular;  spent 
most  of  the  day  recovering  from  the  effort  of  last  night. 
At  night  the  western  sky  seemed  ablaze !  We  guess  the 
Yankees  must  be  at  work  near  Jonesboro,  only  twelve 
miles  distant.  Pursuant  to  arrangement  of  Peyt,  a 
strange  negro,  named  "Jim,"  presented  himself  to  us  as 
a  pilot  to  conduct  my  companion,  L.,  to  the  Federal  lines. 
With  or  without  cause,  and  unknown  to  L.,  both  Peyt 
and  Aunt  Mary  had  expressed  themselves  as  unwilling  to 
risk  themselves  further  on  L.'s  account.  Rightfully  or 
wrongfully,  they  accused  him  of  many  acts  of  indiscre- 
tion, which  created  alarm  lest  he  should  be  discovered 


100  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

and  they  severely  dealt  with.  One  offence  was  his  care- 
less approach  to  the  cabin  by  daylight,  which  caused  some 
questions  to  be  asked  by  some  of  Mr.  Smith's  family,  who 
saw  him.  In  addition  to  this,  L.  seemed  rather  diffident, 
and  took  no  pains  to  please  or  instruct  our  hosts ;  and 
the  original  interest  which  they  took  in  him  wearing  away, 
without  replacement,  seemed  to  have  its  effect ;  nor  could 
they  accept  the  excuse  of  youth  for  acts  of  indiscretion 
imperilling  their  own  safety.  Personally,  the  writer 
makes  not  a  single  complaint  against  L.  The  negroes 
had  simply  lost  confidence  in  him,  which  they  could  not 
regain,  and  argument  seemed  powerless  to  restore  it.  L. 
was  persuaded  to  go,  however,  and  Jim  and  L.  started 
together  for  the  Federal  lines.  Expectations  of  the 
Federal  advance,  and  continued  illness  of  the  writer, 
permitted  the  separation.  "Farewell,  L.,  and  may  you 
get  through  safely.  Who  gets  through  first,  must  bear 
the  messages  of  the  other.  Good-bye."  L.  had  scarcely 
got  beyond  hailing-distance,  when  the  writer  regretted 
that  he  had  not  accompanied  him  —  lonely.  The  writer 
selected  new  quarters  to  sleep :  Uncle  Davie's  shoe-shop, 
in  rear  of  the  cabins.  > 

August  20.  —  Retreat  to  the  old  bower  at  daylight. 
Shortly  after,  great  excitement  reigns.  "The  Yankees 
are  coming!  the  Yankees  are  coming!"  is  the  report. 
Upon  urgent  appeal,  the  writer  quickly  glided  into  Aunt 


OF    THE    WAR.  101 

Mary's  cabin,  and  up  into  the  loft,  where  through  an 
aperture  lie  could  watch  the  road.  Patiently  watching  — 
no  Yankees.  While  thus  engaged,  one  of  the  fair  resi- 
dents of  the  mansion,  or  "big  house,"  came  to  Aunt 
Maiy's  cabin  and  deposited  with  her  a  bundle  of  letters 
and  photographs  for  safe-keeping,  in  the  common  belief 
that  the  Federals  never  searched  negroes.  This,  the  writer 
learned,  was  a  widow  lady,  named  Mrs.  Stand!.  While 
visiting  the  cabin  she  related  to  Aunt  Mary  a  "queer 
dream,"  to  which  the  writer  listened  attentively.  It 
was  an  adventure  with  a  "Federal  captain"  (one  bar 
beyond  my  rank).  The  charming  widow  sat  directly 
beneath  the  writer,  on  Aunt  Mary's  bed,  and  by  peering 
through  the  open  flooring,  a  fair  "  bird's-eye  view"  was 
obtained.  The  fair  lady  suddenly  threw  herself  back 
upon  the  bed  and  gazed  directly  upward !  It  seemed  that 
our  glances  met  instantly !  To  move  would  certainly 
attract  her  attention.  The  lady  dreamily  inspected  the 
board  ceiling  above  her,  and  the  writer  remained  a  fixed 
prisoner  until  relieved  by  the  presence  of  mind  of  Aunt 
Mary,  who,  feigning  to  desire  some  article  of  bed-cloth- 
ing, forced  the  lady  to  a  sitting  posture.  Shortly  after, 
she  returned  as  she  came.  The  special  deposit  of  photo- 
graphs and  love-letters  were  handed  to  the  writer.  The 
letters  were  from  a  lieutenant  in  the  Confederate  army, 
and  their  contents  —  are  not  "contraband  of  war." 
Rather  late  in  the  afternoon  there  were  discovered  on 


102  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

the  road  rebel  pickets,  mounted,  passing  eastwardly,  stat- 
ing to  Mr.  Smith  that  they  had  been  "driven  in  by  the 
Yankees,  who  were  immediately  behind  and  coming  on." 
Then  followed  a  scene  of  hurried  confusion !  Mr.  Smith 
and  his  son,  Corporal  Sid,  with  the  field-hands  and  family 
valuables,  beat  a  hasty  retreat  to  a  neighboring  swamp. 
The  trembling  ladies  and  children  were  left  in  the  house 
to  meet  the  foe.  Aunt  Mary  had  in  her  wash-tub  all  the 
underclothes  the  writer  possessed.  They  were  speedily 
extracted  therefrom,  hastily  wrung  and  passed  up,  and, 
in  the  emergency,  pulled  on  —  wet.  The  negroes  had 
been  told  to  "run  for  their  lives;"  but  there  was  an 
influence  the  whites  could  not  understand,  which  caused 
them  to  instinctively  cluster  around  the  cabin  of  Aunt 
Mary,  calmly  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the  blue-coats. 
Anxious  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  on  the  road  over  which 
the  Confederate  pickets  had  just  been  driven,  and  the 
watch  was  kept  long  and  eagerly.  No  dust  —  no  appear- 
ance—  night  drawing  near  —  impatience.  Suddenly  the 
booming  of  cannon  is  heard  ;  direction  —  south  of  west ; 
not  th'ree  miles  away !  As  we  suspected,  the  column  had 
left  our  road  only  three  miles  west  of  us,  and  was  now 
proceeding  to  McDonough,  Georgia,  which  was  three 
miles  southward.  The  Yankees  are  shelling  the  rebel 
pickets  that  dispute  the  passage  to  the  town  —  the  dis- 
pute is  short,  and  the  Federal  raiders  pass  through  the 
town,  and  return  to  the  Federal  lines  at  Covington, 


OF   THE   WAR.  103 

Georgia,  thus  completing  a  circuit  around  us,  and  within 
three  miles  of  lending  us  joy  supreme!  Bitter  disap- 
pointment ;  bleeding  hopes  —  blank  despondency !  In  the 
slighest  hope  that  perhaps  a  few  blue-coats  might  ramble 
to  this  plantation  for  food  or  forage,  the  writer  permitted 
his  spirits  to  droop  in  Aunt  Mary's  loft  all  night. 

August  21.  —  The  atmosphere  is  thick  with  rumors, 
but  no  Yankees  appear.  At  the  bower  in  the  woods ; 
lonesome  —  no  reports  ;  no  consolation — alone.  At  night, 
"  Jim,"  who  had  started  for  our  lines  with  L.,  returned 
with  bitter  complaints  that  L.  was  "clumsy"  and  indis- 
creet. He  reported  that,  on  the  first  day  out,  L.  insisted 
on  raiding  a  melon-patch  by  daylight,  against  J.'s  protest 
and  warning,  and  was  seen  by  the  owner  of  the  planta- 
tion, Mr.  Gleaton.  From  some  of  Gleaton's  negroes 
Jim  learned  that  Gleaton  had  reported  the  circumstance 
of  a  man  in  blue  in  his  melon-patch,  to  the  Confeder- 
ate cavalry!  Howbeit,  Jim  refused  to  accompany  L. 
further,  turned  him  over  to  other  friendly  negroes,  and 
returned,  and  begged  leave  to  guide  the  writer  to  the 
Federal  lines.  This  was  agreed  to,  on  condition  that 
Jim  should  proceed  to  plantations  on  the  line  of  the 
recent  raid,  and  gather  all  the  information  possible 
concerning  the  raiders,  and  the  status  at  Atlanta,  and 
return ;  while  the  writer  determined  to  interview  Mr. 
Smith  as  to  what  he  knew,  from  reports  of  the  Confed- 


104:  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

erate  cavalry  who  had  daily  passed  his  door.  With  this 
understanding,  Jim  departed.  The  writer  conferred  with 
Peyt  and  Aunt  Mary,  and  astounded  both  by  declaring, 
"I  am  going  to  talk  with  Mr.  Smith  and  his  family  this 
night. ' '  In  vain  were  the  warnings  of  danger  and  deceit ; 
but  upon  solemn  assurances  that  dangerous  visiting  rela- 
tives were  in  the  house,  the  interview  was  postponed  one 
day.  The  writer  had  been  well  informed  that  Mr.  Smith 
was  a  strong  Southern  man,  imbued  with  strong  preju- 
dices against  any  thing  blue ;  had  a  son  in  the  Confed- 
erate army,  who  is  now  at  home,  and  the  whole  family 
enthusiastic  in  the  Southern  cause ;  but  by  mere  accident 
he  also  obtained  information  of  the  fact  that  Mr.  Smith 
was  a  prominent  member  of  a  fraternity  which  is  world- 
wide in  extent,  and  which  has  survived  all  wars  and  civil 
strife,  and  by  means  of  which  "enemies"  meet  as 
"brothers."  On  the  fly-leaf  of  an  old  book  a  note  was 
written  to  Mr.  Smith  apprising  him  of  the  presence  of  a 
Federal  officer,  and  claiming  also  to  be  a  brother  in  dis- 
tress, and  desiring  information  regarding  his  friends,  and 
attaching  the  mystic  sign  of  the  order.  Every  thing  now 
awaited  — 

August  23. — As  the  writer  was  about  to  enter  the 
bower-retreat,  the  rustling  of  leaves  within  revealed  the 
presence  of  a  prior  occupant  in  the  shape  of  a  huge 
black-snake,  who  seemed  willing  to  contest  his  right  of 


OF   THE   WAR.  105 

entry.  A  well-directed  blow  at  the  head  of  the  black 
intruder,  with  the  hickory  cane  the  writer  always  carried, 
but  which  his  snakeship  artfully  dodged,  caused  him  to 
glide  through  the  rustic  confines  of  the  bower  and  rapidly 
away  through  the  shrubbery.  Evening  —  the  plan  was 
announced  for  the  attempt  on  the  "  big  house  "  to-night. 
The  house-dog  to  be  secured,  and  retained  in  one  of  the 
cabins  —  pickets  selected  to  watch  the  road,  and  to  cast  a 
pebble  against  the  window  should  cavalry  halt  at  the  gate. 
The  slave  "Charlie'*  was  selected  to  be  hailed  by  the 
writer  on  the  road  and  deliver  the  note  to  Mr.  Smith. 
This  programme  was  executed,  and  when  Charlie  rapped  at 
the  front-door,  the  writer  had  taken  a  position  near  by, 
where  he  could  hear  the  conversation  within  through  the 
open  window.  Charlie  told  his  story  of  being  hailed  on 
the  road  by  a  stranger  and  requested  to  deliver  the  note 
to  his  master  and  await  an  answer.  Charlie  was  ordered 
to  wait.  The  door  was  closed,  and  one  of  the  ladies 
read  the  note  aloud.  Corporal  Sid,  who  had  retired,  was 
aroused,  and  a  long  and  wordy  conference  followed,  in 
hushed  accents.  A  note  was  returned  to  Charlie,  who 
was  informed  that  the  "stranger"  who  had  hailed  him 
was  a  Yankee!  Charlie  feigned  great  surprise,  and 
returned,  with  seeming  reluctance,  with  the  answer.  The 
substance  of  the  answer  was:  "Although  an  enemy,  yet, 
if  you  are  what  you  profess  to  be,  you  will  not  be  harmed 
at  my  house.  My  son  is  home  sick  from  the  Confederate 


106  A    PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

army ;   but  you  can  meet  in  peace  at  my  house,  even  if 
you  cannot  elsewhere."     Signed,  "Smith." 

Aunt  Mary  and  Peyt  were  assured  that,  whatever  hap- 
pened, nothing  should  compromise  or  implicate  them. 
Charlie  guided  me  to  the  front  gate,  where  Mr.  Smith 
stood  to  receive  me.  Greeting ;  hand-shaking ;  mysterious 
questions,  promptly  answered  —  expressions  of  satisfac- 
tion —  invitation  to  c '  come  in ' '  accepted  —  entree.  There 
sat  in  waiting  three  ladies  —  Mrs.  Stancil  was  immediately 
recognized  as  one.  Mr.  Smith  politely  introduced  the 
writer  as  a  "  Federal  officer  ' '  to  his  ladies  and  to  his  son 
Sidney.  They  had  never  before  seen  a  "  Federal,"  nor  a 
Federal  uniform,  and  both  seemed  objects  of  great  curi- 
osity —  but  all  seemed  also  to  realize  that  before  them 
stood  the  representative  of  a  hated  idea!  The  writer's 
first  remark,  after  raising  his  fatigue  cap,  was,  "  You  see, 
ladies,  that  we  do  not  wear  horns ;  "  but  manifestly  they 
were  in  no  humorous  mood. 

Mr.  Smith  engaged  the  writer  in  friendly  conversation 
about  lodges,  the  war,  armies,  Atlanta,  Sherman,  Hood, 
etc.,  growing  rather  vehement,  and  exclaiming,  "I  tell 
you,  sir,  the  Yankees  can  never  take  Atlanta  —  never!" 
The  writer  replied,  "  Well,  we  differ  there.  If  you  knew 
the  character  of  our  Western  army  and  its  commander,  you 
would  never  expect  to  see  them  go  backwards.  Atlanta 
must  fall,  sir."  The  old  gentleman  simply  bit  his  lip,  as 
if  half  believing  it.  The  ladies,  now  becoming  more 


OF   THE   WAR.  107 

social,  ventured  to  ask  the  writer  numerous  questions, 
until  the  conversation  became  quite  general,  changing 
into  a  brisk  chat  between  the  heroine  of  the  cabin,  Mrs. 
Stancil,  and  the  writer,  to  which  the  others  seemed  con- 
tent to  listen.  How  the  mention  of  a  circumstance  would 
cause  her  surprise !  how  the  mention  of  a  name  would 
bring  her  to  her  feet !  ' '  Have  you  many  friends  in  the 
rebel — Confederate  army,  Mrs.  Stancil?"  "  A  few," 
she  responded.  "  And  none  in  our  army?"  "None," 
was  the  reply. 

The  writer  now  turned  his  attention  to  the  other  object' 
of  secret  admiration,  —  the  "Corporal  Sid."  Gray  uni- 
form —  brass  buttons  ;  corporal's  chevrons  —  sullen  fea- 
tures —  arms  folded  —  standing  —  looks  upon  the  present 
scene  as  though  he  entertained  grave  doubts  as  to  its 
propriety  —  reluctant  assent  —  compromise  -  of  -  dignity 
air ;  entertaining  a  Yankee  —  probably  jealous  of  writer's 
attention  to  others ;  Confederate  military  importance 
slighted  —  gray  snubbed  by  the  blue  in  its  own  stronghold. 
The  corporal  closely  scans  the  uniform  of  the  writer  — 
dark  blue  —  eagle  buttons  —  staff  shoulder-straps  —  well- 
worn  staff  trimmings  —  sky-blue  welts  on  outer  seam  of 
pants  ;  worse  for  wear ;  military  boots  —  within  them  all 
an  unrestrained  enemy!  We  will  raise  no  question  of 
rank,  but  if  there  is  to  be  one,  since  it  can  avail  noth- 
ing and  effect  nothing,  let  it  be  conceded  that,  under 
the  circumstances,  chevrons  on  gray  outrank  straps  on 


108  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

blue.  Now  to  force  an  "  engagement  "  with  the  enemy  in 
hostile  uniform.  "  Sorry  you  are  so  sick,  sir,  and  unable 
to  participate  in  the  fun  at  the  front."  "Yaas,  sorry 
too,"  was  the  response.  Slowly  and  cautiously  the  con- 
versation continued  —  answers,  for  the  most  part,  in 
monosyllables.  Now  the  corporal  warms  to  the  conver- 
sation, and  ventures  to  explain  the  difference  between 
"on*  armee  an'  you'  armee  "  by  the  presence  in  the  lat- 
ter of  a  great  foreign  element.  The  writer  ventured  the 
remark  that  that  fact  possibly  enured  to  the  credit  of 
the  foreigners,  and  to  the  discredit  of  natives  opposing 
them.  (Wonder  if  he  saw  the  point?)  Guard  against 
personalities  —  remember  the  situation  —  no  place  to  dis- 
cuss war  issues  —  danger  can  appear  at  the  wave  of  a 
hand! 

Now  Mr.  Smith  reenters  from  the  dining-room,  and 
politely  said  to  the  writer,  "I  have  ordered  supper  for 
you,  and  it  is  all  ready,  sir;  will  you  step  out?"  A 
flash  of  suspicion — unfounded,  perhaps,  but  still  enter- 
tained—  no  reason  for  it,  but  nevertheless  felt  —  super- 
abundance of  caution,  perhaps.  Howbeit,  it  moved  the 
lips  to  say,  "Had  I  known  of  the  preparation,  I  should 
have  stopped  it ;  having  partaken  heartily  before  I  came, 
I  must  ask  you  to  accept  my  thanks,  and  excuse  me." 
"  If  you  insist  upon  it,"  said  Mr.  Smith.  u  And  now  it  is 
so  late,  you  had  better  remain  with  us  the  balance  of  the 
night."  Thoughts.  Was  the  bed  to  accomplish  what 


OF    THE   WAR.  109 

the  table  could  not?  Where  is  the  element  of  trust? 
Why  abuse  kindness  without  reason  ?  —  faithful  guards  are 
on  duty,  why  decline?  u  I  am  so  weary,  sir,  and  worn, 
that  I  accept  your  kindness  for  the  remainder  of  the 
night."  A  candle  —  a  pleasant  good-night  to  all.  Mr. 
Smith  conducts  the  writer  to  bed-chamber  on  first  floor  — 
the  nearer  to  my  "guards"  I  sleep,  the  better  I  shall 
feel.  Will  they  understand  this  movement?  "  Good- 
night, stranger."  "  Good-night,  sir;  "  and  the  door  was 
closed  and  locked.  Comfortable,  soft  bed.  Who  says  that 
one  enured  to  hardships  cannot  rest  on  feathers,  lies  not 
on  feathers,  but  under  a  mistake. 

"  Weariness  can  snore  upon  the  flint." 

Then  why  not  upon  the  feathers?  Mosquitoes  —  reason 
enough;  slumbers  somewhat  disturbed  by  winged  sere- 
naders  —  assassins  of  the  night;  also  by  troublesome 
mental  inquiries.  What  if  Confederate  cavalry  stop  for 
information,  or  breakfast?  What  if  my  host  send  infor- 
mation to  them  ?  By  whom  ?  By  a  slave  ?  They  are  all 
enlisted  in  my  behalf  —  rest  in  the  consciousness  that 
"pickets"  are  faithful  and  true,  and  that  any  evil  at- 
tempt, or  presence  of  danger,  will  be  promptly  communi- 
cated by  the  pebble  against  the  pane  —  slumber.  It  may 
at  first  blush  seem  questionable  conduct  in  accepting  the 
hospitality  of  one  whose  house  was  guarded  by  his  own 
slaves,  and  the  host's  family  under  suspicion,  but  a  close 
analysis  of  the  situation  reveals  the  affair  in  its  true  light. 


110  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

The  hospitality,  beyond  a  mere  visit,  was  not  anticipated. 
Mr.  Smith  was  bound  only  to  the  extent  of  his  note,  and 
seemed  careful  in  conversation  not  to  commit  himself 
further.  In  it  the  writer  is  recognized  as  "  an  enemy;  " 
but  on  account  of  being  also  a  "  brother,"  "  will  not  be- 
harmed  at  my  house."  No  friendship  expressed,  no  pro- 
tection, no  aid  offered,  no  information  given ;  Mr.  Smith 
might  remain  true  to  his  word,  and  the  writer  be  betrayed 
and  seized  immediately  upon  leaving  the  house ;  and  as 
he  had  only  one  trial  at  mistakes,  the  caution  which 
only  demonstrated  Mr.  Smith's  trustworthiness  was  con- 
sidered well  taken.  But  even  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances the  distinction  is  keenly  felt  between  being 
merely  tolerated  and  being  welcomed.  Doubtless  both 
felt  that  it  was  a  difficult  feat  to  reconcile  the  brother 
with  the  enemy.  During  the  night  there  were  noises  in 
the  house  indicating  that  all  were  not  asleep,  and  that  the 
writer  was  not  the  only  one  under  the  roof  who  was  suf- 
fering from  apprehensions. 

August  24.  —  At  daylight  a  sharp  tapping  on  the  win- 
dow aroused  the  writer,  who  arose,  to  discover  that  it  was 
only  Mr.  Smith,  apprising  of  the  approach  of  day. 
Dressing  —  appearance  —  conference.  "I  desire  to  go 
north."  Carefully  crossing  the  road,  Mr.  Smith  ex- 
presses fear  that  the  "Confederate  folks"  may  be  com 
ing  along.  Piloted  on  a  path  by  Mr.  S.,  northward, 


OF   THE   WAR.  Ill 

nearly  a  mile.  "Now,  if  you  will  remain  here  awhile," 
said  Mr.  S.,  "I'll  send  or  bring  you  some  breakfast." 
"  Thanks,  but  time  is  precious,  and  I'll  move  on  to  thicker 
cover."  Smith  accepts  thanks  for  kindness  and  secrecy, 
and  returns.  The  writer  performed  a  three-mile  circuit, 
ending  at  the  welcome  bower  in  rear  of  Aunt  Mary's 
cabin.  Tedious  march  through  the  dew-wet  shrubbery. 
Wearied  and  anxious,  the  writer  fell  asleep,  and  within 
his  embrace  was  a  large  watermelon  which  he  had  gath- 
ered en  route.  Luscious  bedfellow !  He  was  awakened 
by  the  presence  of  Aunt  Mary,  who  knew  of  his  intention 
to  return  and  keep  his  engagement  with  Jim,  and  who 
stood  ready  with  a  fine  warm  breakfast.  No  suspicion  — 
no  fears  —  no  misgivings  —  no  reservations  ;  but  perfect 
confidence.  "Ah,  how  strong  is  my  trust  in  black!" 
While  the  writer  eagerly  discussed  comforts,  to  which  he 
knew  he  was  heartily  welcome,  Aunt  Mary  humorously 
related  the  reports  of  the  previous  evening's  experiences. 
The  mysterious  visitor  was  referred  to  in  terms  rather 
complimentary  than  otherwise.  "Siss,"  a  fair,  grown 
daughter  of  Mr.  Smith,  said  "he  was  dressed  in  Yankee 
blue  from  tip  to  toe."  The  sweet  little  miss  whom  the 
writer  had  observed  from  the  straw-house,  in  her  childish 
innocence  and  imagination  confidentially  told  Aunt  Mary 
that  " his  breast  was  full  of  pistols!  "  Mrs.  Stancil  con- 
fessed that  she  ' '  was  very  much  pleased  with  the  little 
Yankee  officer."  (How  about  that  Confederate  lieuten- 


112  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

ant?)  She  was  probably  thinking  of  the  Confederate 
when  she  added,  "I  really  fell  in  love  with  him."  Mr. 
Smith  said  he  was  "  a  gay,  bold  young  Yankee,  armed  to 
the  teeth ;  "  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  "  he  had  plenty 
of  company  near  at  hand. ' '  The  negroes  were  all  de- 
lighted with  the  adventure,  but  looked  significantly  at 
each  other  when  informed  that  Smith  possessed  no  infor- 
mation about  the  armies,  although  the  newspapers  were 
delivered  daily  at  his  door.  Reports  came  that  during 
the  day  there  had  been  unusual  passing  of  cavalry  and 
refugees  on  the  road,  and  several  soldiers  had  conversed 
with  Mr.  Smith,  who  seemed  somewhat  excited.  The 
writer's  curiosity  was  also  excited.  What's  the  news? 
All  silent  Atlantaward.  What  can  it  mean?  Despera- 
tion makes  one  bold  —  determination  to  squeeze  some 
information  from  Smith.  At  night  the  writer  approached 
from  the  north,  and  hailed  at  the  gate.  "What's  want- 
ing?" inquired  the  sweet  voice  of  Siss.  "The  man  of 
the  house,"  was  the  response.  "Pa,"  she  called,  "  some- 
body for  you."  Mr.  S.  came  to  the  gate,  and  the  writer 
explained  that  he  observed  extra  commotion  on  the  road, 
and,  before  starting  north,  took  the  liberty  to  learn  from 
him  what  news  had  been  brought  to  him  from  the  front ; 
and  that  the  writer  took  this  method  in  order  not  to  dis- 
turb the  peace  of  his  family  by  reappearance  within.  Mr. 
Smith  expressed  thanks  for  prudence,  and  replied,  "They 
all  say  that  Hood  has  made  up  his  mind  to  hold  Atlanta 


OF   THE   WAR.  11$ 

at  all  hazards."  "  Thanks,"  said  the  writer,  u  my  course 
is  determined."  (It  was,  to  round  the  Confederate  right 
flank  into  our  lines  —  useless  to  wait  longer. )  The  ladiea 
now  appeared  at  the  front-door,  and  peered  suspiciously 
out  into  the  darkness.  "They're  all  excitement  again," 
said  Smith.  "I'll  allay  it,"  replied  the  writer,  "by  pre- 
tending I  am  trying  to  purchase  apples  of  you,"  and 
uttered  a  loud  remark  to  that  effect;  to  which  Smith 
loudly  replied,  "Yes,  sir;  but  I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  apples 
are  very  scarce  this  year ;  "  and  the  writer  passed  away 
in  the  darkness,  silently  contemplating  the  marvellous 
dread  of  blue  cloth.  A  short  circuit  again  brought  him 
to  the  bower-house,  where  he  restlessly  remained  all 
night. 

August  25.  —  Fishing ;  thinking ;  planning ;  waiting 
for  Jim's  return.  Anxious  to  start  for  the  Union  lines. 
Where  is  that  Jim  ? 

August  26.  —  Occasional  booming  of  a  single  gun  in 
the  direction  of  Atlanta ;  irregular  and  slow  firing ;  in- 
dications that  they  are  tired  of  it.  After  dark,  there 
suddenly  bursts  forth  a  furious  cannonade  ;  rapid  firing ; 
puzzling ! 

August  27.  —  Great  excitement !  Confederate  cavalry 
report  that  "Sherman  is  falling  back  to  the  Chattahoo- 

8 


114  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

chee  ! ' '  Driven  back  from  Atlanta  —  repulsed  —  failure  ? 
Whites  jubilant;  negroes  sorrowful;  writer  nonplussed. 
"  Don't  believe  it."  True  or  false,  time  is  precious. 
"  Where  is  Jim?" 

Sunday,  August  28.  —  Very  early  this  morning,  Jim 
appeared,  with  questionable  explanations  of  his  absence, 
and  announced  himself  ready  to  depart  with  the  writer 
for  the  Federal  lines.  We  spend  the  day  arranging  our 
plans  and  receiving  reports  of  jubilant  rebel  cavalrymen 
passing  the  "  big  house  "  and  exchanging  congratulations 
with  Mr.  Smith  on  account  of  the  4 '  glorious  Confederate 
victory  and  Yankee  defeat!  "  Ominous  silence  in  the 
direction  of  Atlanta  seems  confirmatory  of  the  report. 
Negroes  much  depressed  —  writer  unable  to  explain  — 
situation  puzzling.  What !  "  defeat?  "  The  old  Army  of 
the  Tennessee !  Sherman  !  destroyed  and  scattered  ?  Im- 
possible! impossible!  But  what  can  it  all  mean?  Night 
of  anxiety,  mingled  with  hopes  and  fears. 

August  29.  —  Council  of  war.  To  go  or  not  to  go, 
which  ?  Inducements  to  remain  —  doubts  and  dangers 
ahead.  Result  of  conference  is,  that  all  things  consid- 
ered, and  reports  true  or  false,  we  start  for  our  lines  this 
evening  at  dark.  The  writer  had  not  much  to  give,  but 
such  as  he  had  he  placed  at  the  disposal  of  Aunt  Mary. 
The  main  gift  was  his  silver  watch.  He  took  it  from  his 


OF    THE   WAR.  115 

pocket  and  passed  it  to  Aunt  Mary,  and  asked  her  to 
accept  it  with  his  sincere  thanks  for  the  aid  and  comfort 
she  had  furnished  him,  and  for  the  deep  interest  she  had 
taken  in  his  welfare,  as  well  as  for  the  exhibition  of  loy- 
alty to  the  cause  represented  by  the  uniform  he  wore. 
Aunt  Mary  seemed  greatly  surprised  and  embarrassed. 
She  went  through  the  usual  motions,  but  was  too  black  to 
blush.  Sudden  and  unexpected.  In  the  nobility  of  her 
nature,  she  said :  u  If  you  must  give  that  away  too,  give  it 
to  brother  Pey t. ' '  Pey  t  was  all  ears  and  eyes.  In  obedi- 
ence to  her  request,  the  watch  was  handed  over  to  Peyt. 
With  both  hands  he  accepted  it.  He  appreciated  the  gift, 
but  had  long  before  proved  more  than  his  appreciation 
of  the  giver.  The  trusty  timepiece  had  been  a  valuable 
companion,  constantly  imparting,  by  day  and  by  night, 
much  desired  information ;  but  the  idea  of  leaving  those 
tried  and  true  friends  with  any  thing  in  the  way  of  per- 
sonal property  upon  me,  to  which  was  not  attached  more 
significance  than  mere  intrinsic  value,  seemed  repulsive 
in  the  extreme,  and  made  the  giving  of  the  watch  a  real 
pleasure  and  not  a  sacrifice.  "Peyt  always  did  fancy 
that  watch."  In  Aunt  Mary's  cabin  the  faithful  had 
assembled  to  bid  us  good-bye  and  God-speed.  We  bade 
an  affectionate  farewell  to  all,  and  were  soon  rapidly 
marching  eastward,  en  route  to  the  Federal  lines.  Our 
plan  is  to  round  the  Confederate  right  flank,  which  we 
learn  is  near  Covington,  Georgia,  north-eastward,  and  per- 


116  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

form  a  safe  circle  to  the  rear  of  the  extreme  Federal  left, 
and  to  press  eastward  as  long  as  danger  threatened  from  the 
north.  It  was  thought,  as  the  Northern  Georgia  Railroad, 
extending  eastward  from  Atlanta,  had  been,  and  probably 
continued,  a  u  bone  of  contention,"  that  we  could  reach 
that,  and  cautiously  follow  it  toward  Atlanta  until  k '  cap- 
tured "  by  the  Federal  pickets  or  scouts.  We  cautiously 
proceeded,  without  uttering  a  word,  a  distance  of  between 
eight  and  nine  miles,  to  a  plantation  of  a  "  Mr.  Gleaton," 
a  wealthy  Southern  gentleman,  where  we  had  reason  to 
believe  much  valuable  information  could  be  obtained  from 
one  of  his  negroes,  named  "Bill,"  who  had  recently 
returned  from  work  on  the  entrenchments  at  Atlanta. 
We  approached  the  cabin  of  a  negro  friend  of  Jim,  and 
learned  that  "  Bill "  was  on  duty  at  his  master's  mansion, 
and  could  not  be  interviewed  until  after  daylight.  "  Or- 
dered "  —  a  halt  for  the  night ;  headquarters  established 
in  the  woods,  about  one  mile  distant  from  the  mansion ; 
spot  indicated  and  agreed  upon ;  bedding  furnished ; 
sweet  sleep  until  broad  daylight  of  — 

August  30.  —  We  opened  our  eyes  on  a  charming 
morning.  Birds  singing;  squirrels  sporting  —  dim  light 
streaming  through  the  foliage.  Beautiful!  Beautiful! 

"  See  how  Aurora  throws  her  fair 
Fresh-quilted  colors  through  the  air!  " 

No  time  wasted  at  the  toilet.     "Now,   Jim,  tell  me, — 


OF    THE   WAR.  117 

tell  me  about  Mr.  Gleatou  and  his  family."  Gathered 
that  Mr.  G.  is  wealthy  land-owner  —  corpulent ;  built  like 
Mr.  Smith,  but  somewhat  smaller  —  slaves  call  him  a  good 
master  ;  feeds  his  slaves  well ;  they  are  not  obliged  to  steal 
to  live  well.  Contrasted  with  Smith,  to  the  latter' s  dis- 
credit ;  Gleaton  generally  kind  and  reasonable,  but  exceed- 
ingly cunning.  He  slyly  approaches  the  hands  at  work  in 
the  field,  and  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  appears  in  their 
midst.  Appropriately  dubbed,  in  consequence,  "  Old 
'Poss."  Strong  Southern  man  —  has  sons  in  the  Confed- 
erate army,  or  at  least  one  —  his  son  George  is  at  home, 
minus  a  leg  lost  in  the  Confederate  service.  His  son 
Thomas  is  too  young  for  a  man,  and  yet  too  old  for  a  boy  ; 
he  hunts  squirrels  with  a  small  rifle.  Both  reported  as 
given  to  intolerable  boasting  of  individual  ability  to  dis- 
patch indefinite  numbers  of  Yankees  on  sight !  A  daugh- 
ter, too, — beautiful  and  accomplished.  Descriptions 
interrupted  by  approaching  footfalls  —  breathless  atten- 
tion —  black  faces ;  all  right.  Two  of  the  field-hands, 
negresses,  on  their  way  to  work,  knowing  of  our  presence, 
made  us  a  pleasant  morning  call,  and  brought  information 
that  Bill  was  aware  of  our  presence,  and  would  bring  us 
dinner.  Interesting  chat  —  surprised  and  delighted  — 
continue  their  way,  singing  as  they  go.  Noon  brought  the 
coveted  Bill,  with  a  warm,  wholesome  dinner  for  us.  In- 
troduction—  information  not  important.  "Niggers  not 
'lowed  to  know  much,  sar."  Reports  of  Lybyer ;  all  right 


118  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

when  last  heard  from  —  at  Freeman's,  only  three  miles  dis- 
tant—  determine  to  endeavor  to  overtake  him  to-night,  and 
three  go  together.  Night  —  thanks,  and  farewell.  A  short 
tramp  over  a  path  through  fields  and  woods,  and  we  are  on 
the  west  bank  of  South  River.  A  small  scow,  used  by  the 
negroes  in  crossing,  and  which  they  Frenchify  by  calling 
a  "bateau,"  is  in  waiting  for  us;  a  short  sail — the  east 
bank — a  mile-heat  through  fields  and  woods,  and  we  reach 
the  plantation  called  ''Freeman's."  "Tell  me  all  about 
Freeman  and  family,  Jim. ' '  Freeman,  poor  white  —  plan- 
tation belongs  to  Gleaton  —  Gleaton  furnishes  the  hands, 
and  Freeman  superintends  and  works  the  place  on  shares  ; 
residence  equidistant  between  South  River  on  the  west 
and  "Honey  Creek"  on  the  east.  The  usual  circling 
around  behind  the  negro  cabins.  We  are  expected,  and 
greeted  with  warm  welcome  and  warm  supper.  Word 
44  flew  "  over  from  Gleaton' s  by  daylight  that  we  might  be 
expected  to-night.  We  find  another  trusty  friend  in  '  'Aunt 
Hannah,"  a  .great  heavy,  fat,  jolly  negress,  "  more'n 
half  white. ' '  Happy  to  see  us  —  delighted  to  aid  us  —  full 
of  kind  wishes  and  congratulations  —  assisted  Lybyer. 
4 '  Where  is  he  ?' '  Started  off  last  night — disappointment ; 
his  intentions  or  plan  not  ascertainable.  Nothing  from 
the  armies  —  no  news — silence  Atlantaward  !  Our  plan  is 
to  press  rapidly  forward  —  urgent  invitations  to  remain 
declined,  with  sincere  thanks.  If  Sherman  is  really  going 
back,  we  certainly  ought  to  follow  him,  even  behind  the 


OF    THE   WAR.  119 

enemy.  Doubts  harassing — we  must  press  forward.  Our 
objective  —  Conyers  Station,  on  the  Northern  Georgia 
Railroad  —  only  eight  miles  northward.  Two  slaves  of 
Gleaton,  working  for  Freeman,  named  "Jack"  and 
"Near,"  tender  their  services  as  pilots  —  accepted  as 
"advanced  guards,"  thus  enabling  us  to  march  rapidly. 
Thanks  ;  full  haversacks  ;  farewell  —  on  the  march.  Plan : 
"advanced  guards,"  if  captured,  are  "going  to  visit 
colored  friends  at  Conyers."  No  "  ear-marks  "  of  intent 
to  run  away  —  in  light  plantation  rigs,  sans  coats  and  shoes. 
Meantime  we  "  act  accordingly,"  to  strike  the  railroad  at 
Conyers  and  face  Atlantaward.  Eager  for  news  ;  neariug 
Conyers  ;  halt  —  listen  —  still  as  death !  We  can  see  the 
railroad-crossing.  Glorious  progress ;  welcome  sight. 
Now,  bidding  our  "  advanced  guards"  farewell,  we  pass 
through  the  silent  village  street  to  the  railroad,  and  turn- 
ing our  faces  westward,  walked  steadily  and  rapidly  until 
"  driven  from  our  position"  by  da}'light  of — 

August  31. — Retreat  to  the  thick  woods;  "head- 
quarters "  established  —  too  near  a  fine  residence  ;  retreat 
to  an  uninviting  swamp  in  the  woods  —  broad  daylight. 
No  sound  or  indication  of  war  —  ominous  silence  ;  aggra- 
vating quiet.  Voices  —  a  reconnoissance  by  the  writer 
disclosed  a  negro  man  and  a  white  boy  in  an  adjoining  corn- 
field stripping  leaves  from  corn-stalks  (pulling  fodder)  — 
no  reasonable  opportunity  to  be  neglected  to  ascertain 


120  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

the  news.  The  writer  returned  to  "headquarters," 
doffed  his  blue  and  donned  the  gray  coat  of  Jim ;  circled 
around  the  field,  and  approached  the  workers  from  the 
opposite  direction,  hailing  them  to  attract  their  attention. 
They  both  appeared  much  astounded,  and  curiously  eyed 
the  writer,  with  a  cautious,  inquiring  gaze.  "  Good  morn- 
ing," said  the  writer,  assuringly  —  they  both  simply 
nodded.  "Any  Yanks  about  here  recently,"  was  then 
inquired.  ' '  Yanks  are  falling  back  to  Chattanooga, ' '  said 
the  boy.  (Did  they  notice  the  blood  leave  the  writer's 
face?)  "  Then  I  am  safe,"  said  the  writer,  "  to  hunt  our 
cavalry  on  the  road,  eh?"  "Safe  enough,"  said  the 
negro — "Yanks  done  gone  away."  A  white  man  was 
now  nearing  us.  "Who's  that?"  inquired  the  writer. 
"That's  my  pa,"  said  the  boy.  (Dreaded  spectre  ;  unwel- 
come visitor  —  old  head.)  Approach  —  a  nod,  a  "how, 
d'y."  Old  man  quite  inquisitive  —  uncomfortably  curi- 
ous—  perplexing  interrogatories  —  pressed  for  ready 
responses  ;  upshot  —  Confederate,  escaped  from  Yankee 
raiders,  desirous  of  reaching  Confederate  forces.  "  What 
regiment  ?  "  "  Twenty -fifth  Georgia,  Company  K. ' '  His 
eyes  cautiously  scanned  the  blue  pants  of  the  Federal  uni- 
form. "Where  did  you  gather  those  Yankee  pants?" 
asked  he.  (Why  is  wit  so  slow?  Why  has  ingenuity 
fled?)  His  eyes  followed  the  little  light-blue  welt  or  cord 
down  the  outer  seams.  "Those,  sir, — those  sir,  were 
kindly  presented  to  me  by  a  Yankee  officer.  You  see,  when 


OF    THE   WAR.  121 

I  escaped  I  ran  through  a  creek,  and  my  pants  becoming 
wet  and  heavy,  retarded  me  greatly,  so  I  pulled  them  off, 
exchanging  my  pants  for  the  chance  to  escape,  but  was 
afterwards  overtaken  by  the  blue  devils  and  captured. 
Pity  and  decency  moved  a  Yankee  officer  to  lend  me 
these  —  he  had  'em  strapped  on  rear  of  his  saddle. 
Afterwards  I  again  escaped,  as  you  see."  (Wonder  how 
he'll  take  that?)  "  Well,  well,"  said  he,  his  face  bright- 
ening to  a  credulous  smile;  "you  did  have  quite  a 
venture,  sho'  — but  you  needn't  fear  now  —  the  Yankees 
are  just  scattering  for  Chattanooga,  and  Gen.  Hood  is 
right  on  'em.  They  all  are  going  back  heap  sight  faster 
than  they,  came."  Ill-feigned  delight.  Will  the  darkness 
within  eclipse  the  brightness  without?  Genuine  gloom; 
false  smiles  —  receding  hope  —  momentary  silence  broken 
with:  "Wont  you  come  up  to  the  house  to  dinner,  sir? 
Some  of  our  cavalry  will  be  along  directly."  "I  think 
I'd  better  seize  the  first  opportunity  to  meet  them,  — 
I've  left  a  little  bundle  in  the  woods,  [blue  coat  and 
haversack]  and  thanking  you  for  your  kindness,  I  will 
get  it  and  wait  for  them  on  the  road ;  no  time  is  to  be 
lost.  Good-day,  sir ;"  and  the  writer  left  as  he  came,  and 
circled  around  to  tell  Jim  of  the  "glorious  news."  More 
concealed  position  in  the  woods  selected  —  misgivings. 
Could  the  man  have  feigned  credulity  so  well  ?  Jim  down- 
hearted too;  Sherman  failed  to  take  Atlanta — another 
head  in  the  Washington  basket.  Old  Army  of  the  Ten- 


122  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

nessee  will  lose  all  its  laurels  in  a  retrograde  movement  — 
never  had  any  experience  in  retreat — will  surely  be  cut 
up.  How  can  this  report  be  true  ?  how  can  it  be  possible  ? 
u  Well,  Jim,  of  one  thing  we  may  be  certain:  the  cam- 
paign against  Atlanta  is  not  over.  If  Sherman  has  gone 
back,  it  is  surely  like  the  tide  —  only  to  come  again  afresh. 
Whipped  ?  No,  sir ;  you  may  be  certain  that  the  old  army 
is  not  whipped  without  much  more  fuss  and  racket  than 
we  have  heard.  [Sherman  had  swung  the  army  clear 
around  the  rebel  left,  in  execution  of  the  famous  flank 
movement  which  won  Atlanta.]  "True,  this  silence  gives 
credence  to  these  reports  —  the  army  must  have  gone 
back,  but  that  the  campaign  is  not  ended  you  may  bet 
all  you've  got,  Jim."  Jim  sadly  shook  his  head  —  keen 
and  bitter  disappointment  —  consideration  of  the  gloomy 
situation. 

"  Disappointment's  mist  surrounds  us, 
Dangers  all  around  us  bide." 

In  our  front  is  —  we  know  not  what ;  in  our  vicinity  we 
know  of  no  one  we  can  ask  for  a  crumb  of  bread  or 
of  comfort,  or  to  whom  we  can  impart  our  secret.  The 
immediately  surrounding  country  has  been  pretty  well 
"  stripped"  by  both  armies.  Most  of  the  negroes  have 
fled  to  the  Federal  lines,  or  joined  the  column  as  it  passed 
by.  Those  who  remain  may  not  be  trustworthy,  and  if 
trustworthy,  cannot  be  depended  upon  for  rations  —  they 
can  hardly  get  enough  for  themselves.  In  our  haversacks 


OP   THE   WAR.  123 

•we  have  rations  for  twenty-four  hours  —  till  to-morrow 
afternoon  ;  what  then?  Under  the  circumstances,  we  can- 
not advance, —  we  cannot  remain  ;  the  alternatives  remain- 
ing are  to  retreat  or  surrender ;  the  latter,  never !  until 
the  —  until  —  well,  never!'  Determined  upon  safe  re- 
treat —  twilight ;  dark  ;  plan :  to  return  to  Conyers  Station 
"  by  rail,"  and  follow  the  road  leading  south  to  Freeman's. 
Since  we  must  suspend  "military  movements"  and 
patiently  await  developments  and  explanations,  it  is  best 
to  await  them  in  comparative  comfort  and  safety  among 
friends.  The  march  to  Conyers  —  single  file  through  its 
main  street,  Jim  preceding — writer  whistled,  as  best  kind 
of  deception.  (A  man  feels  at  home  when  he  whistles.) 
We  travel  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  as  numerous  ladies  are 
parading  the  sidewalks  bareheaded,  in  the  cool  air  of  the 
late  evening,  by  twos  and  threes  —  gentlemen  very  scarce — 
families  enjoying  the  cool  evening  chatting  on  piazzas  — 
boys  playing  in  the  street.  We  pass  all  safely,  and  with- 
out a  word  spoken  by  us  or  to  us  ;  boldness  disarms  sus- 
picion —  the  road  leading  south  —  leisure  gait  transformed 
to  a  brisk,  rapid  pace  as  we  turn  southward.  Eight  miles' 
rapid  march  and  almost  speechless  transit,  and  shortly 
after  midnight  we  rest  our  weary  limbs  at  coveted  Free- 
man's. Cautiously  arousing  Aunt  Hannah  —  whispered 
explanation  of  return,  and  warm  congratulations  and 
welcome  ;  we  slept  sweetly  in  quilts  on  her  kitchen  floor. 


124  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

Awakened  and  retreated  to  the  friendly  woods  at  day- 
break of  — 

September  1,  — Where  we  remained  awaiting  develop- 
ments all  day,  royally  provided  for  by  Aunt  Hannah; 
dark;  a  conference  of  war  —  no  artillery,  no  sounds  of 
battle  —  no  doubt  something  extraordinary  has  happened 
at  the  front.  The  negroes  had  always  insisted  that  Free- 
man's folks  were  "Union,"  and  now  again  insisted  that 
the  writer  test  their  loyalty  by  disclosing  his  character 
and  presence  to  them.  The  writer  inquired :  — 

"  What  did  they  ever  say  to  make  you  think  so?  They 
might  have  been  just  testing  you." 

"They  often  said  they'd  like  mighty  well  to  see  a  real 
Yankee." 

"Ah,  but  any  Confederate  soldier  might  say  the 
same." 

"But  one  of  the  girls  —  Siss  —  says  she's  going  to 
marry  a  Yankee." 

"  That  was  just  by  way  of  a  joke." 

"But  I  heerd  old  man  Freeman  say  i  it  was  a  great 
shame  for  our  folks  to  try  and  break  up  the  Union.'  " 

"  That  talk  was  all  for  black  ears." 

"  Well,  we's  satisfied  to  have  you  try  him.  You'll  find 
him  'Union/  strong!  " 

"Very  well;  I'll  try  him  to-night,  and  we  shall  all  see 


OF    THE   WAR.  125 

whether  he  is  Union  or  rebel.  I  don't  think  he  would 
dare  be  Union  if  he  wanted  to." 

Twilight  —  dark;  plan  of  approach  formed  and  an- 
nounced. The  writer  wore  a  light,  lavender- colored 
cape,  which  Aunt  Mary  had  kindly  and  thoughtfully  fur- 
nished, and  it  was  dyed  with  sumach  leaves, — as 
Aunt  Mary  expressed  it,  "de  color  ob  night/'  —  and 
served  to  nicely  conceal  the  blue  cloth,  a  row  of  glittering 
brass  buttons,  and  shoulder-straps.  " Pickets"  were 
stationed  on  the  road  above  and  below  the  house,  to  cast 
a  stone  as  the  signal  of  the  approach  of  cavalry,  or  other 
danger.  These  precautions  taken,  the  writer  stepped  into 
the  road,  and  silently  passed  to  the  front  gate  of  the 
Freeman  residence,  which  stood  about  ten  feet  back  from 
the  gate.  A  halt ;  listen ;  the  customary  hail  —  a  young 
lady  in  "homespun"  dress  appeared  at  the  window,  and 

-  —v 

inquiringly  peered  toward  the  gate.  She  manifestly  heard 
the  hail,  but,  save  by  appearance,  failed  to  respond. 
The  writer  then  said,  — 

"I  wish  to  see  the  man  of  the  house,  if  you  please." 
Mr.  Freeman  then  strolled  slowly  toward  the  gate.  The 
writer  opened  conversation  with  — 

"  Who  lives  here,  sir,  please?  " 

"  I  do ;  my  name  is  Freeman." 

u  How  far  is't  to  Conyers?  " 

"  About  eight  mile,  they  say.     Who  are  you?  " 


126  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"  Only  a  stray  Confederate.  Seen  any  of  our  cavalry 
lately?" 

" Nary  one  since  last  week;  don't  know  what's  come 
o'  them  all  of  a  sudden.  Guess  they've  got  enough  of 
the  Yankees." 

"Why  so,  sir?" 

4 'Well,  it  looks  like  it's  becomin  gmore  and  more  up- 
hill work  to  fight  'em  ;  we'd  better  give  it  up  altogether." 

"  So  I  think,  if  there  are  many  more  traitors  like  you 
in  the  rear  of  our  army." 

"  Well,  that's  the  way  I  feel  about  it.  It's  only  a  clear 
waste  of  lives.  They're  too  strong  for  us,  sir.  The 
government  is  bound  to  whip  us,  sooner  or  later.  We 
all  know  we  can't  stand  it  much  longer." 

" Did  you  ever  see  a  Yankee?  " 

"No,  sir;  but  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  o'  them;  I  never 
did  a  thing  agin  'em  in  my  life.  I  heerd  tell  so  much 
about  'em,  I  would  like  right  well  to  see  one  on  'em." 

"  Look  at  me !     Do  I  look  like  a  Confederate  ?  " 

"I  reckon  you  do,  sir;  you're  no  Yankee,  sir." 

The  writer  stood  in  the  flood  of  light  which  streamed 
from  the  window,  threw  back  over  his  shoulders  the  little 
gray  cape,  exposing  the  blue  uniform  and  glittering  but- 
tons and  shoulder-straps.  "  What  do  you  think  now?  " 

Mr.  F.  started  back  with  "  What!  Possible?  A  Yan- 
kee ?  You  ?  I  am  your  friend  —  you  must  not  stand  here 


OF    THE   WAR.  127 

on  the  road,  in  danger.  Come  in,  sir ;  come  in.  My 
folks  will  be  glad  to  see  you."  The  family  now  gathered 
at  the  window,  at  the  mention  of  the  word  "Yankee," 
which  was  excitedly  repeated  by  them  in  whispers.  As 
he  was  escorted  into  the  room,  a  shawl  was  tacked  up,  as 
a  substitute  for  a  curtain,  against  the  front  window. 
"  Our  folks  frequently  pass  on  the  road,"  said  one.  The 
little  gray  cape  was  doffed,  and  never  was  the  wearer  so 
proud  of  his  blue  uniform  and  straps  as  when  these  five 
pairs  of  admiring  eyes  scanned  them.  Steady  gazing ; 
curiosity  mingled  with  admiration.  "First  Yankee  ever 
seen."  Cordial  invitation  to  supper  accepted,  with 
thanks.  An  introduction  to  the  members  of  Mr.  Free- 
man's family  disclosed  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Freeman, 
Miss  Downs,  a  buxom  miss  of  eighteen  summers  (daugh- 
ter of  Mrs.  Freeman  by  a  former  marriage),  and  called 
"  Siss  ;  "  Milligan,  her  brother,  aged  about  twelve  years, 
stout,  healthy,  good-natured ;  Betsy  and  Nancy  (daugh- 
ters of  Mr.  Freeman  by  a  former  marriage),  aged  respec- 
tively seventeen  and  fifteen. 

Mr.  Freeman  — Age  about  fifty-five  ;  belongs  to  the  Thir- 
tieth Georgia  Militia ;  owner  of  one  slave  woman,  Sarah, 
and  her  child.  One  of  the  peculiarities  of  a  peculiar  system 
is  exhibited  in  her  case:  her  husband,  called  "Dock,"  is 
a  free  negro,  hanging  around  the  plantation,  having  pur- 
chased his  own  freedom,  and  living  with  his  "  wife,"  the 
personal  property  of  Mr.  Freeman.  The  child  of  this 


128  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

free  negro  is  also  the  property  of  Mr.  F. ,  under  the  well- 
known  law  that  the  offspring  of  the  dam  is  the  property 
of  the  owner.  Delightful  contemplation!  The  law  for 
brutes  is  the  law  for  slaves  —  the  title  of  the  master  supe- 
rior to  that  of  the  father.  Mr.  F.  not  responsible  for  the 
law.  Kind,  good-natured  gentleman ;  practical  Chris- 
tian, harmless,  philosophical,  matter-of-fact;  not  one 

"  Who  quarrels  with  his  feed  of  hay 
Because  it  is  not  clover." 

From  their  first  meeting  until  the  present  time  a  valued, 
fast  friend  of  the  writer. 

Mrs.  Freeman — About  fifty-five  ;  though  gentle,  yet  not 
dull  —  not  talkative;  rather  nonchalant  —  quiet,  earnest 
sympathy  for  the  writer  —  motherly  —  cautious  —  dry  wit. 

Miss  Tinzy  Downs  —  Robust ;  picture  of  health  ;  well- 
proportioned —  eighteen  —  fair  complexion,  brown  hair, 
blue  eyes,  pearly  teeth — decided  blonde  —  interesting  ex- 
pression and  address  —  moves  one  to  pity  that  poverty 
can  limit  culture  —  possesses  the  "  handful  of  common 
sense"  which  "is  worth  more  than  a  bushel  of  learn- 
ing ' '  —  features  interesting  —  Grecian. 

Betsy  Freeman  —  Quiet  disposition  ;  seventeen  —  en- 
joys a  joke,  but  never  manufactures  or  perpetrates  one  — 
petite  blonde  —  fine  hazel  eyes  —  chestnut  hair  —  always 
pleasant;  cheerfully  lends  the  writer  her  dresses,  and 
laughs  inordinately  when  they  are  donned  to  belie  sex. 


OF   THE   WAR.  129 

Nancy  Freeman  —  Fifteen  ;  full  of  life  and  frolic  — 
talkative,  vivacious,  sparkling,  interesting,  sympathetic, 
sensible,  mischievous. 

Milligan  Downs  —  Called  "  Mig ;  "  twelve  —  thinks 
"  lots  "  of  his  Yankee  friend  —  proposes  to  go  North  with 
the  writer,  and  "enlist  in  the  Yankee  army  as  drummer- 
boy" —  cheerful,  accommodating,  inquisitive  —  never 
tires  hearing  about  the  Yankee  army. 

Jacob  Freeman  —  Eldest  son  of  Mr.  F. ,  and  at  present 
a  private  in  the  Confederate  army,  and  on  duty  at  Ander- 
soriville  prison-pen. 

Supper  was  announced  in  due  time,  and  the  writer 
partook  heartily.  He  briefly  related  his  experiences 
since  within  the  rebel  lines,  and  expressed  his  great 
delight  to  learn  that  all  the  whites  were  not  rebels  —  de- 
lighted to  find  a  few  white  faces  that  he  could  look  into 
without  fear  and  trembling.  Great  sympathy  and  interest 
were  manifested  in  the  writer's  behalf.  He  now  arose  to 
depart,  .and  expressed  his  gratitude  for  sympathy  and 
encouragement.  "But  where  are  you  going  to-night?"' 
inquired  Mrs.  F.  "Oh,  I  shall  find  friends;  the  colored! 
people  always  seem  glad  to  provide  for  me  some  way." 
"But  you  have  as  good  friends  here;  and  you  have  no 
home,  no  friends,  and  will  certainly  be  in  danger  out- 
doors;  so  stay  with  us  all  night,  at  least,"  pleaded  Siss. 
"Better  stay,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr.  F.  "You  can't  have 
your  cap,"  said  Siss,  as  she  clung  to  that  article.  Their 

9 


130  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

invitations  seemed  stamped  with  sincerity,  and  the  writer 
consented  to  be  shown  to  the  "  spare  room."  (Soft  bed, 
clean  bedding,  perfect  trust,  sweet  slumber.)  Habit  of 
awakening  and  retreating  at  daybreak  was  not  so  strong 
as  to  disturb  rest ;  and  when  the  eyes  opened,  the  sun  was 
away  up  in  the  morning  of  — 

September  2.  —  Dressing ;  toilet  —  almost  forgotten 
luxury  —  morning  greetings  ;  mutual  curiosity  to  meet  by 
daylight  —  warm  breakfast.  "We  are  going  to  the  field 
to  work,  pulling  fodder;  wouldn't  you  go  along  with 
us?"  asked  Mr.  F.  "Agreed;  I  used  to  work  on  a 
farm  myself."  "I  have  some  negro  boys  who  belong  to 
my  neighbor,  and  who  visit  there  frequently ;  had  we 
better  tell  them  who  you  are  ?  Would  they  blab  it,  think  ?  ' ' 
"Yes,  tell  them  I'm  a  Yankee  —  accept  my  guaranty 
they'll  not  tell  of  it,  if  cautioned." 

In  the  field  —  Freeman  introduces  my  trust}7  friends  and 
pilots,  Jack  and  Near,  to  a  "Yankee."  (How  naturally 
they  feign  surprise.)  Perfect  strangers.  First  favor- 
able opportunity,  Mr.  F.  received  intimation  that  the 
writer  had  met  the  "boys"  before  —  assertion  substan- 
tiated by  the  boys.  "I  kind  er  thought  so,"  said  Mr. 
F.,  smiling.  The  writer  put  in  a  good  day's  work  with 
the  boys,  Mr.  F.,  and  the  three  girls,  who  also  acted  as 
"field  hands,"  pulling,  binding,  and  stacking  sheaves  of 
fodder.  The  exercise  by  daylight  was  invigorating; 


OF   THE    WAR.  131 

lunch  at  noon,  warm  supper  at  night.  "How  much 
sweeter  a  meal  seems  when  we  feel  that  we  have  well 
earned  it,"  remarked  the  writer,  while  the  laugh  went 
round  the  table.  About  dusk,  a  rebel  mail-carrier  rode 
by  the  house,  and,  reining  up  at  the  gate,  sadly  made  the 
astounding  announcement,  "The  Yankees  have  taken 
Atlanta!"  (Glory  hallelujah!  Yankee  doodle !  Get  all 
the  particulars.  Thought  they  had  been  driven  back! 
Where's  Jim?)  Nothing  else  —  only  the  sad  news,  told 
with  lengthened  nasal  twang,  "  The  Yankees  have  taken 
Atlanta;  "  and  the  sad-eyed  butternut  calmly  moves  on. 
We  unitedly  rejoice.  The  blue-coats  will  be  here  to- 
morrow !  Oh !  too  good  to  be  true.  But  how  was  Atlanta 
taken?  There's  been  no  booming  of  cannon  Atlantaward. 
There's  a  mystery  about  the  whole  business.  Only, 
* 'it's  taken!  "  Exultations;  congratulations;  conversa- 
tion away  into  the  night  —  retirement  —  sleep  out  of  the 
question  —  rest  feverish  and  fitful. 

September  3.  —  Great  excitement ;  work  suspended. 
"  The  Yankees  are  coming!  "  "The  Yankees  are  com- 
ing! "  Through  an  abundance  of  precaution,  the  writer 
retired  to  a  concealed  spot  in  the  woods,  back  of  Free- 
man's, indistinctly  commanding  a  view  of  the  road,  and 
all  day  long  patiently  watched  for  the  blue-coats,  as  a  cat 
watches  for  a  mouse.  Cannonading  and  musketry  heard 
westward,  in  direction  of  Jonesboro,  on  the  railroad. 
4 '  Are  the  rebs  retreating  down  the  railroad  ?  "  u  Push 


132  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

'em  back,  ;  Uncle  Billy,'  push  'em  back;  push  'em  south 
of  our  'position,'  anyway."  The  day  passes,  and  so 
do  "great  expectations."  Not  a  soul  passes  on  the 
road  —  everybody  willing  to  stay  at  home;  all  seem  trem- 
blingly awaiting  developments.  Freemans  extra  proud 
of  their  guest,  in  whose  presence  they  feel  protection  and 
favor  from  the  "enemy."  Getting  quite  aristocratic 
now  —  sleep  under  a  roof. 

Sunday,  September  4. — Greater  excitement.  "Yan- 
kees certainly  coming" — rebels  demoralized,  and  falling 
back.  Along  the  roads  and  lanes,  and  scattering  through 
the  woods  and  fields,  straggle  the  defeated  and  disheart- 
ened Confederates;  no  longer  an  army  —  no  longer  an 
organization  —  disconnected  and  dispirited  mob  ;  devil- 
may-care  airs  —  every  man  his  own  commanding  officer  j 
woods  decidedly  unsafe  for  blue  cloth.  The  Freemans 
conceal  the  writer  in  their  garret;  comparatively  good 
view  of  surrounding  country  from  garret  window  —  small 
volumes  of  blue  smoke  are  curling  gracefully  skyward 
through  the  foliage,  marking  the  numerous  "  camp-fires  " 
of  straggling  soldiery.  Siss  turns  spy  for  the  Union 
cause;  she  hails  the  straggling,  jaded  soldiers  in  gray, 
and  elicits  valuable  information.  "What  is  the  matter, 
sir?"  asked  she  of  an  intelligent  but  tired  and  worn 
"gray-back."  "Matter,  ma'am!  why  the  war  is  over! 
That's  what  ails  us  —  we're  going  home."  Another 


OP   THE   WAR.  133 

replied,  "The  Yankees  are  in  Atlanta.  We  did  our 
best  to  keep  'em  out,  but  we  are  badly  whipped ;  no 
use  —  nothin'  but  murder  to  put  us  before  the  Yankee 
guns."  Butternut  and  gray  only  colored  cloth  on  the 
road  —  patiently  awaiting  appearance  of  something  blue. 
So  the  day  and  night  pass. 

September  5.  —  Statu  quo.  Anxiously  and  patiently 
awaiting  the  advent  of  blue  cloth ;  still  in  the  garret. 

September  6. — Jim  had  been  dispatched  to  Glea- 
ton's  and  Smith's,  to  bear  the  news  of  our  failure  to 
reach  our  lines,  and  to  gather  information  concerning 
the  Federal  advance,  and  to  leave  word  with  our  friends 
to  inform  any  genuine  "blue-coats"  of  our  situation. 
We  were  to  meet  by  appointment  at  Gleaton's  to- 
night ;  and  accordingly,  after  dark,  the  writer,  piloted  by 
"Near,"  proceeded  to  the  appointed  place.  The  prom- 
ise to  return  to  Freeman's,  in  the  event  of  failure  to  reach 
the  Federals,  was  solemnly  exacted  and  given.  Farewell ; 
a  short  march  to  South  River  —  in  the  bateau  —  at  Glea- 
ton's —  warm  welcome.  Jim  not  arrived ;  what  can  cause 
the  delay?  Anxiously  waiting  for  Jim.  "Wee  sma* 
hours;"  no  arrival;  pallet  bed  on  floor  of  negro  cabin 
for  writer  ;  grand  fire  on  the  hearth  —  slumber.  Day- 
break of  — 


134  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

September  7.  —  The  retreat  to  the  woods  —  no  Jim  — 
alone.  The  news  is,  "  De  Yankee  calvary1  s  advancing." 
Not  a  shot  can  be  heard ;  difficult  to  reconcile  so  much 
war  and  so  much  "  defeat"  with  so  much  silence  —  ideas 
of  war  all  out  of  joint.  Dead  silence  indicated  "  Sher- 
man's defeat  and  retreat ; "  now  "  dead  silence  "  indicates 
the  advance  of  the  Yankee  "calvary."  Verily  the 
times  are  out  of  joint. 

September  8.  —  Lonesome  —  anxious  —  watching. 
"Where's  Jim?"  Speculations  wild  and  uncertain 
concerning  his  absence.  "Has  he  been  'gathered'  by 
cavalry?  "  Blue  or  gray?  "  Will  he  conduct  the  '  blue- 
coats  '  to  me  here?  "  Uncertainties,  doubts,  fears,  hopes, 
and  misgivings  close  the  day. 

September  9.  —  Solemn  conference  ;  conclude  to  wait 
for  Jim  one  day  longer  only  —  in  the  woods  at  daylight. 
Suddenly  voices  were  heard  in  the  vicinity  of  the  retreat, 
and  a  reconnoissance  disclosed  the  approach  of  two  young 
men  with  rifles  and  dog — squirrel-hunters.  A  closer  view, 
and  the  writer  recognized  "Tommy  Gleaton,"  whom  he 
had  previously  secretly  inspected  at  Freeman's.  The 
writer  was  kept  quite  busy  for  some  hours  in  evading  the 
invaders  of  his  retreat,  and  in  endeavoring  to  keep  his 
person  to  the  leeward  of  the  nostrils  of  the  dog  —  chances 


OF   THE   WAR.  135 

of  being  observed  at  least  seventy-five  per  cent  greater 
while  in  motion.  Shifting  about  tends  to  attract  atten- 
tion —  extra  cautious.  On  several  occasions,  felt  com- 
pelled to  move  unceremoniously —  series  of  rapid  "flank- 
movements  "  and  hasty  "  retreats  "  — finally  driven  to  a 
pine  grove,  and  eagerly  penetrated  it  as  a  delightful  re- 
treat where  squirrels  are  not  found.  The  writer  threw 
himself  into  a  friendly  gully,  protected  by  sheltering  pine 
boughs,  and  enjoyed  rest.  After  the  "skirmish  "  with  the 
squirrels,  the  hunters  started  homeward  on  a  path  leading 
through  the  pines,  which  the  writer  had  not  observed,  but 
which  he  now  discovered  ran  within  thirty  feet  of  his 
retreat.  Adown  this  path  came  the  hunters,  chatting 
cheerfully,  the  dog  beside  them  —  to  attempt  retreat 
would  only  insure  instant  discovery.  A  little  closer  nest- 
ling among  the  protecting  boughs,  a  little  flatter  upon 
mother  earth,  and  the  dreaded  trio  passed  unobservingly, 
and  the  critical  moment  was  over.  The  dog  alone  seemed 
interested,  snuffing  the  ground  as  he  passed,  and  mani- 
festly catching  the  scent  of  human  footprints,  but  unable 
to  distinguish  between  the  blue  and  the  gray.  With  great 
pleasure  the  writer  observed  their  retreating  forms  lost  to 
view  in  the  thick  pines.  But  in  the  shifting  about,  the 
writer  was  unable  to  retain  any  ideas  of  distance  or  direc- 
tion, and  became  completely  bewildered  as  to  both;  very 
effectually  lost — he  could  only  determine  the  points  of  the 
compass,  but  was  utterly  unable  to  even  guess  in  which 


136  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

direction  were  friends  and  in  which  foes.  While  stand- 
ing indulging  in  indefinite  and  unprofitable  contemplation, 
eager  to  catch  any  sight  or  sound  to  indicate  the  direction 
of  Gleaton's,  the  sounds  of  pattering  hoofs  were  indis- 
tinctly heard.  Nearer  and  nearer  the  sounds  approached, 
until,  through  the  thick  boughs,  the  writer  observed  the 
mounted  forms  of  six  rebel  cavalrymen  —  gray-coats  — 
who  passed  on  a  road  hardly  twenty  feet  distant  from 
him.  A  road  so  near?  The  sun  was  now  nearly  sunken 
behind  the  western  horizon  ;  not  knowing  the  proper  direc- 
tion to  take,  the  writer  stood  nonplussed,  and  listened. 
It  was  one  of  those  calm,  beautiful  summer  evenings,  the 
death-like  stillness  only  broken  by  feathered  songsters  of 
the  forest,  and  the  tinkling  of  distant  bells  in  the  pasture- 
fields  ;  a  flood  of  mellow,  golden  light  streamed  through 
the  foliage,  and  all  surroundings  wore  the  aspect  of  gen- 
tle peace  —  but  man.  Hark!  the  deep,  rich  melody  of  a 
plantation-song  floats  upon  the  still  evening  air.  "  Field- 
hands  returning  from  work ;  can  it  be  possible  they 
are  Gleaton's,  and  that  I  am  so  completely  turned 
around?"  Listen  to  their  plaintive  wail  —  did  you  ever 
hear  it?  Mournful  harmony  —  thrilling  —  would  move  a 
heart  of  adamant.  Almost  instinctively  he  followed  the 
familiar,  alluring  voices,  which  conducted  him  safely  to 
Gleaton's,  and  trust}^  friends.  Word  had  been  whispered 
among  them  that  the  Yankee  was  missing,  the  real  cause 
instantly  suspected,  and  the  loud  plantation-songs  pro- 


OF   THE   WAR.  137 

duced  the  very  effect  designed.  Shrewd,  sagacious  allies  ; 
quick  as  a  flash  to  comprehend  a  delicate  situation  with- 
out explanation.  Faithful,  trusty  blacks.  Shortly  after 
dark,  Jim  quietly  reappeared,  and  brought  no  important 
information  about  the  armies.  "Jim,"  said  the  writer, 
"you  are  well  dubbed  '  old  dog; '  where  have  you  been 
smelling  around?  "  "  I'se  been  waitin'  for  the  Yankees 
at  Smith's  ;  I  couldn't  get  yere  when  we  said,  and  I  come 
now  to  get  you."  u  What  did  I  tell  you  about  the  Yan- 
kees, Jim  —  where's  Atlanta  now?  "  Aunt  Mary  had  given 
the  order  to  bring  the  writer  to  her  "  dis  very  night." 
"Dey's  no  'scape  —  you  must  go,"  said  Jim.  Not  un- 
willing to  again  greet  Aunt  Mary,  and  in  the  hope  of 
increasing  the  chances  of  also  greeting  the  blue-coats, 
the  writer  consented  to  go.  Shortly  before  midnight  we 
started,  and  were  soon  speeding  across  the  fields.  We 
arrive  at  Cotton  River;  afire  —  voices  —  men.  Blue  or 
gray?  We  cautiously  approach  on  hands  and  knees, 
screened  by  the  shrubbery,  until  near  enough  to  clearly 
observe  a  rebel  picket-post.  We  quietly  retreat,  and 
complete  the  accustomed  circle  around  them,  keeping  a 
sharp  lookout  for  the  sentry  on  the  road,  crossing  the 
small  river  on  a  log,  and  rapidly  proceed  toward  Smith's, 
boldly  marching  on  the  road.  When  about  three  miles 
east  of  Smith's,  our  ears  suddenly  caught  the  sounds  of 
clattering  hoofs;  a  halt  —  listen.  Louder  and  nearer! 
"  They're  coming  down  the  road !  "  Over  the  fence  in  a 


138  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

twinkle  —  concealment ;  now  pass  eastwardly  a  squadron 
of  Confederate  cavalry,  at  least  one  hundred  strong; 
carbines  —  clanking  sabres  —  talking  in  subdued  tones. 
" Bye-bye,  boys!  "  We  were  soon  again  on  the  march, 
and  in  due  time  arrived  safely  at  Aunt  Mary's.  Our  old 
friends  are  all  up,  patiently  awaiting  our  arrival,  and 
calmly  sitting  in  the  doors  of  their  huts.  They  manifested 
much  joy  to  again  meet  us ;  young  and  old  must  have  a 
hearty  ' '  shake. ' '  Aunt  Mary  seemed  very  much  affected  ; 
she  embraced  the  writer  affectionately,  and  declared,  "I 
think  jus'  as  much  of  you  as  if  you  was  my  own  chile !  " 
There  was  no  "  color  line"  before  which  could  be  halted 
the  flow  of  genuine  esteem  and  gratitude  which  the  writer 
entertained  toward  true  and  tried  black  Aunt  Mary. 

"  Skins  may  differ,  but  affection 
Dwells  in  white  and  black  the  same." 

The  remainder  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  slumber  on 
a  pallet  bed  in  Aunt  Mary's  cabin-loft. 

September  10.  —  The  writer  was  informed  that  the 
woods  were  considered  dangerous,  and  that  he  must  re- 
main in  the  loft  all  day ;  the  march  and  excitement  of 
the  previous  night,  however,  converts  confinement  into 
welcome  rest.  Confederate  cavalrymen  and  stragglers 
on  foot  are  wandering  about  from  plantation  to  planta- 
tion, purchasing  pigs,  corn,  chickens,  potatoes,  etc. 
They  report  that  the  "  whole  army  is  encamped  at  Jones- 


OF    THE   WAR.  139 

boro "  (on  the  railroad,  only  twelve  miles  eastwwrd). 
4 'The  Atlanta  army  fallen  back!"  The  writer  imme- 
diately determined  that  Smith's  was  no  place  for  him. 
He  yearned  for  the  other  flank  —  the  right  of  the  Fed- 
erals —  as  the  rebels  were  manifestly  being  pressed  east- 
ward. At  all  events,  he  discovered  that  he  was  now  among 
the  enem}-,  and  either  flank  would  be  preferable  to  the 
centre.  The  frequent  visitations  of  "gray-backs"  at 
Smith's  during  the  day  made  Aunt  Mary's  cabin  uncom- 
fortable "  headquarters  "  for  a  "  blue-coat."  This  agita- 
tion in  Confederate  military  circles  means  something. 
Determination  to  again  attempt  to  reach  our  lines  by 
rounding  the  extreme  flank  of  the  Confederates  as  before. 
There's  no  delusion  this  time — Sherman's  in  Atlanta! 
Our  cavalry  raiders  will  certainly  "  hang  about"  the 
rebel  flanks  —  would  prefer  the  other  flank,  but  it's  not 
available.  At  dark  we  bid  all  a  last,  affectionate  fare- 
well, and  rapidly  march  eight  miles  eastward,  avoiding  the 
roads,  and  proceeding  across  the  fields  to  Cotton  River. 
Here  we  find  again  the  fire  at  the  rebel  picket-post  on  the 
road,  and  from  a  safe  distance  cautiously  inspect  the  gray 
uniforms  about  the  fire  ;  maintaining,  the  while,  most  pro- 
found respect  for  the  unseen  sentry,  whom  we  knew  ought 
to  be  standing  in  the  dark  on  the  road.  We  safely  arrived 
at  Gleaton's  —  slept  on  pallet  beds  in  a  friendly  negro 
hut  until  daylight  of  — 


140  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

September  11 ,  —  Which  found  us  again  in  thick  pro- 
tecting foliage  of  the  woods.  After  dark  we  were  con- 
ducted to  a  neighboring  plantation  for  a  solicited  confer- 
ence with  the  writer,  which  had  been  requested  by  a  negro 
slave  and  his  wife,  runaways,  who  desired  to  reach  the 
Federal  lines.  They  asked  the  writer,  "Which  way  is 
best  to  go?" 

44  That's  the  very  thing  I  can't  tell  for  myself." 

44  Well,  we'd  like  mighty  well  to  go  wid  you." 

44  That  will  never  do ;  two  of  us  find  travelling  together 
very  dangerous  —  four  pair  of  feet  would  more  than  double 
the  risk." 

44  We'll  take  all  de  risk,  sar." 

44  But  I'll  not  take  any  ;  your  interest  and  ours  requires 
separation  ;  two  can  make  quite  enough  noise.  The  writer 
observed  the  negro  was  armed  with  a  carbine,  and  in- 
quired, — 

44  Where  did  you  get  that  rifle?  " 

44  In  de  ribber  yonder,  off  one  o'  you  'uns  who  was 
with  Mr.  Kilpatrick's  raiders,  and  drowned  in  trying  to 
ford  de  ribber." 

44  Let  me  see  it."  (Examines.)  44A  Yankee  carbine, 
sure.  Say,  Sam,  better  give  me  this  carbine ;  it  belongs 
to  the  Yankees,  anyhow.  I'll  make  good  use  of  it,  if 
you'll  give  it  to  me ;  beside,  it  would  go  pretty  hard  with 
vou  to  be  caught  by  the  rebs,  armed." 


OF   THE   WAR.  141 

"I  done  thought  o'  that  befo' — guess  you'd  better 
take  it  along." 

"Thank  you,  Sam  (negroes  all  4  Sams  ')  ;  thank  you." 

"Here's  a  few  cartridges  for  't  —  take  'em  along." 

' '  Thank  you  —  thank  you. ' ' 

"  An'  here's  a  few  caps  for  't,  too." 

"Thank  you." 

The  writer  pressed  the  steel  clasp  beneath  the  stock, 
the  breech  slid  downward,  and  the  handy  little  breech- 
loading  Federal  carbine  was  soon  loaded  and  capped  — 
ready  for  action.  Glorious !  "I  feel  as  strong  as  a  whole 
regiment.  No  longer  required,  under  any  and  all  circum- 
stances to  play  the  '  sneak ; '  can  assume  the  offensive 
now,  if  absolutely  required  —  arms  and  ammunition;" 
keen  realization  of  difference  in  feeling  between  being 
armed  and  unarmed.  Reminded  of  slight  difference 
humorously  alleged  to  exist  between  Confederate  and 
Democrat,  viz.,  "Confederate,  armed  Democrat;  Demo- 
crat, unarmed  Confederate."  The  reflection  forced  that 
if  the  "  slight  difference  "  extends  beyond  mere  senti- 
ment or  opinion,  it  immediately  enlarges  to  one  of  magni- 
tude. Returned  to  Gleaton's  an  armed  Yankee  —  glow- 
ing expressions  of  over-confidence  in  the  negroes  of  the 
Yankee's  ability  to  use  the  weapon  if  required.  Slum- 
bered sweetly  on  a  pallet  on  the  cabin  floor,  my  trusty 
carbine  my  "  bedfellow."  Between  two  and  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  of  — 


142  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

September  12,  — We  were  gently  aroused  by  "  Near,'* 
one  of  Freeman's  field-hands,  who  stated  that  the  Free- 
mans,  especially  Siss,  had  dispatched  him  for  the  writer, 
with  instructions  "  not  to  return  without  him."  "  They 
have  some  important  news,  probably."  The  writer  will- 
ingly obeyed  the  unseasonable  summons,  and  in  a  few 
moments  was  on  the  march  toward  Freeman's,  accom- 
panied by  the  faithful  messenger,  leaving  Jim  to  await 
his  return  to  Gleaton's.  The  bateau  was  missing  from 
the  river-bank ;  but  without  stopping  to  investigate  the 
cause,  the  writer  and  his  guide  hastily  stripped  off  their 
clothing,  carrying  it  on  their  heads  while  they  forded  the 
river,  over  waist-deep ;  then  hastily  dressing,  and  rapidly 
marching,  safely  reaching  their  destination  about  sunrise. 
The  usual  precaution  developed  that  "Grandpa"  (Mrs. 
Freeman's  father)  was  up  on  a  visit  from  Oak  Hill, 
Georgia  (six  miles  southward),  and  it  was  deemed  wise 
to  withhold  our  secret  from  him.  Accordingly,  Near  was 
dispatched  to  report  to  Freeman's  the  presence  of  the 
writer,  and  returned  to  the  woods  with  "  Dere's  no  news  in 
partic'lar  ;  Siss  say  she  want  to  see  you,  dat's  all."  "  She 
has  news  she  will  not  tell  Near,"  thought  the  writer. 
Patiently  waiting  in  the  woods,  with  growing  confidence  in 
my  loaded  companion-piece ;  as  usual,  my  selected  posi- 
tion commands  all  the  approaches  to  the  house.  Toward 
evening,  Siss  appeared  at  the  rear  window  of  the  kitchen 
building,  situated  some  distance  in  rear  of  the  residence, 


OF    THE   WAR.  143 

and  peered  inquiringly  into  the  woods.  A  form  in  blue 
disclosed  its  presence,  and  she  beckoned  its  approach ; 
cheerful  obedience  —  greetings  and  congratulations.  The 
young  lady  explained :  "  The  old  gentleman  at  the  house 
is  my  grandpap ;  but  he  will  go  home  soon,  perhaps  to- 
night, then  we  want  you  to  come  to  the  house.  He  is  old, 
and  if  he  knew  a  Yankee  was  about,  he'd  be  scared  to 
death." 

"  Why  did  you  send  for  me,  Siss ;  have  you  any  news 
about  our  troops?  " 

"  Not  a  word  ;  I  just  thought  you'd  be  safer  here  than 
anywhere  else.  Be  sure  and  come  to  this  window  after 
dark;  I'll  have  a  nice  supper  for  you." 

"  How  can  I  ever  repay  you  for  your  kindness?" 

"  Never  mind  that  —  you're  friendless  now." 

' '  Friendless !  then  who  are  you  ?  ' ' 

"Be  sure  and  come  early  to  supper,  while  it's  hot;  so 
good-bye  till  supper  time  ;  "  and  the  pleasant  face  faded 
from  the  window  like  a  vision.  The  writer  cautiously 
retired  to  the  woods,  but  saw  nought  but  the  pleasant  face 
at  the  window ;  heard  nought  but  a  cheerful,  sympathetic 
voice ;  merry  birds  warbled  their  evening  songs,  and 
squirrels  vigorously  chattered  as  if  chiding  his  silence 
and  lack  of  attention,  but  they  interrupted  not  his 
thoughts.  "Fair  complexion,  intelligent  features,  spark- 
ling blue  eyes,  sweet  voice,  pearly  teeth,  fine  figure ; 
manifests  great  interest ;  large  heart ;  rich  brown  hair  — 


144  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

and  all  growing  more  and  more  beautiful  every  moment  I 
Why  is  this  thus?"  The  voices  of  the  night  reminded 
him  of  the  approach  of  darkness,  which  now  steals,  unob- 
served, over  earth  and  sky.  A  hasty  repairing  to  the 
appointed  window;  Siss  was  in  waiting,  and  proudly 
passes  out  a  delicious  supper,  which  was  fully  appreciated 
and  speedily  appropriated.  Said  she:  "Mr.  Freeman's 
son  '  Jake  '  is  just  up  from  the  Confederate  army,  from 
Andersonville,  where  he  is  stationed  on  guard  duty ;  but 
we've  talked  it  all  over,  and  decided  that  you're  not  going 
to  sleep  in  the  woods  nor  any  cabin  to-night.  Grandpap 
and  Jake  both  will  stay  all  night,  but  we've  made  room 
for  you  too ;  so  in  about  two  hours,  when  every  thing  is 
quiet,  please  come  to  the  house  to  sleep."  Siss's  pro- 
gramme was  executed,  and  the  writer  slept  soundly, 
separated  by  a  thin  board  partition  from  the  Confederate 
soldier,  to  whom  it  was  thought  not  best  to  impart  the 
"  family  secret." 

September  13.  —  The  writer  was  the  first  of  the  three 
visitors  up,  and  was  soon  after  in  his  retreat  in  the 
woods.  By  appointment,  Milligan  and  the  writer  re- 
treated deep  into  the  forest  together,  and  there  tested  the 
accuracy  of  the  "Yankee  carbine,"  shooting  several 
times  at  a  paper  mark,  at  about  four  hundred  yards  dis- 
tance ;  result  entirely  satisfactory.  We  returned  about 
noon,  and  were  informed  that  both  "grandpa"  and 


OF    THE   WAR.  145 

"  Jake  "  had  departed  —  one  for  Oak  Hill,  the  other  for 
Andersonville.  In  our  absence,  the  girls  had  studied  an 
ingenious  plan  by  which  acquaintance  with  the  writer 
was  to  be  maintained  by  daylight  as  well  as  by  night ; 
he  was  to  be  disguised  as  a  young  lady.  After  a  ' '  clean 
shave,"  the  writer  was  directed  to  don  one  of  Betsy's 
calico  dresses  and  a  sun-bonnet.  Done  —  splendid  fit! 
"  I'm  to  pass  for  Betsy,  and  poor  Betsy's  to  stay  at  home 
while  the  rest  of  us  raid  for  muscadines  and  grapes." 
Thus  does  the  ingenuity  of  the  girls  anticipate  undue  curi- 
osity of  the  neighbors,  and  also  render  their  stranger- 
friend  cavalry-proof.  "Agreed;  I'm  Betsy."  We 
venture  forth  on  the  road,  accompanied  by  the  little  dog 
"Trip,"  and  each  carrying  a  basket;  it  seems  so  queer, 
so  irregular,  to  be  moving  during  daylight.  A  short  dis- 
tance from  the  house  we  met  two  strange  horsemen, 
who  gracefully  lifted  their  hats  and  smiled  pleasantly  as 
the  "three  Freeman  girls"  passed.  We  pass  "Honey 
Creek,"  finally  reach  the  vines,  gather  the  delicious 
fruit,  and  safely  return  with  filled  baskets  ;  a  success. 

September  14. — Visitors'  day;  caught  in  the  house 
early  this  morning  — i.e.,  unable  to  get  out  without  great 
danger  of  being  detected  by  old  Mr.  Gleaton,  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  plantation ;  on  shares  with  Freeman. 
"  Came  over  on  a  tour  of  inspection,"  he  said,  as  he 

10 


146  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

reined  up  his  charger  at  the  gate,  before  the  writer  awoke  ; 
"early  bird."  Yards,  cabins,  and  work  in  the  fields 
were  scrutinized  in  turn,  from  a  commanding  position  in 
the  saddle.  The  writer  obtained  not  a  very  satisfactory 
view  of  the  "  Old  'Poss,"  and  was  exceedingly  cautious, 
after  the  frequent  warnings  by  the  negroes  of  the  sly 
nature  of  the  old  gentleman.  Shortly  after  noon  he  de- 
parted, and  we  all  breathed  freer.  Before  advantage  of 
his  absence  could  be  taken,  however,  a  Confederate  sol- 
dier called ;  seated  himself  in  the  front-room,  and  seemed 
disposed  to  make  himself  very  much  at  home,  and  actually 
tried  to  be  funny.  Siss  was  "detailed"  by  the  writer 
to  obtain  any  information  she  could  from  him,  and  the 
writer  inspected  him  through  a  door  slightly  open  at  his 
back.  He  knew  little  more  than  we;  was  disposed  to 
prolong  his  stay;  tired  everybody  out;  pointed  hints 
were  ineffectual ;  manifestly,  as  Siss  said,  waiting  for  an 
invitation  to  supper.  Receiving  no  encouragement  in  that 
direction,  he  finally  arose,  stretched  himself,  and  rode  off 
supperless.  No  sooner  had  he  gone  than  "  Old  'Poss  " 
returned,  and  remained  all  night,  sleeping  in  a  room  ad- 
joining that  of  the  writer.  His  suspicious  return  caused 
some  suspicion  that  he  was  curious  about  something. 
"Has  he  received  a  hint  of  our  secret?"  "Did  he 
observe  any  thing  which  excited  his  curiosity  ?  ' '  How- 
beit,  he  gained  no  further  information  by  "roosting" 
away  from  his  home. 


OF   THE   WAR.  147 

September  15  and  16. — At  Freeman's;  dodging 
"  neighbors  "  and  rebel  cavalry.  Passing  to  and  fro  on 
the  road  are  soldiers  in  gray,  and  also  many  refugees  flee- 
ing from  the  Yankees.  We  put  on  a  bold  front,  however, 
and  kept  the  family  supplied  with  grapes  and  muscadines. 
The  novelty  of  the  writer's  apparel  —  Betsy's  dress  —  fur- 
nished not  only  healthy  diversion  for  himself,  but  almost 
boundless  amusement  for  the  family.  But  the  transition 
from  frivolity  to  discretion  was  instant  upon  the  approach 
of  danger,  or  occurring  circumstances  which  rendered 
good  acting  necessary ;  at  other  times,  or  when  ' '  off 
guard,"  much  merriment  was  created  by  the  writer's 
imitations,  in  costume,  of  many  of  Betsy's  peculiarities. 

September  17.  —  The  new  programme  is  for  the  writer 
to  wear  one  of  Betsy's  dresses  during  the  whole  day. 
*'If  it  be  a  good  deception  in  emergencies,  it  cannot  be 
bad  in  general ;  ergo,  wear  it.  Plan  adopted.  Mr. 
Freeman  seriously  inquired  of  the  writer,  "  But,  George," 
(they  had  all  learned  to  call  the  writer  by  his  first  name) 
"if  our  folks  should  happen  to  catch  you  in  disguise, 
wouldn't  they  take  you  and  hang  you  for  a  spy?  "  "  No, 
not  according  to  any  laws  of  war ;  of  course  not.  I 
didn't  come,  but  was  forced  into  their  lines  by  them  ;  but, 
of  course,  there's  no  telling  what  might  be  done.  It  might 
be  hard  for  me  to  furnish  other  evidence  than  my  own 
word  that  I  am  not  a  spy ;  even  you  don't  know  what  I 


148  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

am.  The  only  evidence  on  me  is  my  diary ;  it's  hard  to 
tell  how  they'd  construe  that.  However,  such  specula- 
tions will  impress  us  with  the  importance  of  not  being 
caught.  I'll  keep  my  uniform  on,  and  take  my  chances 
in  calico  over  it ;  I  will  not  be  disguised  for  any  of  the 
purposes  of  a  spy."  Free  as  a  bird!  Unbodied  joy! 
Freedom  of  the  yard,  house,  porch,  and  road  by  day- 
light ;  a  new  creature ;  a  new  life  ;  relieved  of  the  neces- 
sity of  the  constant  strain  produced  by  forced  caution 
and  concealment.  The  negroes  seem  wild  with  merri- 
ment! "  Errand-girl "  between  whites  and  blacks.  No 
Confederate,  no  Yankee  —  simple  non-combatant. 

September  18.  — No  sounds  of  war !  "Where's  Jim?  " 
4 'What's  the  news?  Why  no  report  from  the  front? 
Has  'Uncle  Billy'  pushed  'em  south  of  Smith's  yet?" 
The  writer  undertook  to  obtain  answers  to  these  inquiries, 
especially  the  latter,  in  person;  and  at  dark  made  an 
announcement  to  that  effect,  bade  a  reluctant  good-bye, 
and  carrying  carbine  and  ammunition,  proceeded  on  the 
usual  route  to  Gleaton's  with  Jack,  paddling  across  the 
river,  tramping  through  the  fields,  and  in  due  time  was 
again  welcomed  at  Gleaton's,  and  slept  soundly  in  a 
friendly  cabin. 

September  19.  — Usual  march  at  daybreak  for  the 
•woods.  In  straggling  through  the  heart  of  the  lonely 


OF   THE   WAR.  149 

woods  for  exercise,  the  writer  suddenly  came  to  a 
deserted,  isolated,  and  partially  dilapidated  cabin,  thickly 
surrounded  by  foliage ;  no  signs  of  occupancy ;  a  cau- 
tious approach,  an  entry,  an  investigation ;  suspicious 
appearance  of  the  floor  —  boards  loose ;  they  readily 
yielded  —  up,  and  underneath  lies  concealed  a  small 
trunk.  It  is  raining  hard,  and  consequently  safe  to  fur- 
ther investigate  ;  tempting  curiosity.  The  trunk  is  pulled 
out ;  fortunately  a  key  is  in  possession  which  unlocks  it, 
and  justifies  suspicions.  The  contents  are  noted:  One 
gray  Confederate  uniform,  a  number  of  United  States 
government  shirts,  a  United  States  government  sabre, 
a  sample  of  Yankee  cartridges,  an  assortment  of  fine 
new  citizens'  clothing,  and  a  Yankee  relic  in  the  shape  of 
a  small  edition  of  the  New  Testament.  All  "  contraband 
of  war,"  and  fairly  recaptured.  The  "  government  prop- 
erty "  was  concealed  in  a  hollow  tree  near  the  cabin, 
where  it  may  yet  remain ;  the  other  property  was  left  in 
the  trunk.  The  "owner,"  upon  exhibiting  proper  evi- 
dences of  his  title  to  the  contraband  articles,  can  now 
ascertain  their  exact  location.  The  "Yankee  relic" 
Testament  was  converted  into  a  "Confederate  relic," 
and  is  now  in  possession  of  the  writer  as  such ;  it  will 
be  cheerfully  surrendered  upon  request  of  the  possessor 
of  a  superior  title.  Suddenly  the  thought  occurred, 
"The  negroes  will  be  at  once  suspected,  and  perhaps 
punished. ' '  A  happy  thought  —  ' '  show  your  hand  ' '  — 


150  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

writing;  negroes  can't  write  like  that!  A  fly-leaf  is  torn 
from  the  Testament ;  a  pencil  from  the  trunk  writes  sub- 
stantially these  words :  — 

"To  the  depositor  of  the  contraband  of  war  missing 
from  this  trunk:  We  are  but  a  few  Federals  who  have 
recaptured  this  government  property,  while  on  a  short 
scout.  The  main  army  will  probably  pass  in  this  vicinity 
shortly,  when  a  proper  account  may  be  demanded ;  until 
then,  farewell.  FEDERAL  SCOUTS." 

"There,"  thought  the  writer,  "  that  will  turn  suspicion 
from  my  colored  friends,  anyway."  The  note  was  left 
on  the  trunk,  the  trunk  on  the  floor,  and  the  weeds 
trodden  down  and  shrubbery  broken,  to  strengthen 
credulity.  The  writer  mused,  "These  were  no  doubt 
concealed  in  anticipation  of  the  Federal  advance."  For 
the  first  time,  through  this  volume,  those  who  already 
know  a  part  of  the  facts  may  now  also  know  the  secret  of 
them. 

September  20.  —  In  the  cabins  last  night,  and  the  trunk 
experience  was  related  to  tickled  negroes ;  ownership  of 
the  trunk  a  mystery.  In  the  woods  at  daybreak ;  a  rainy, 
disagreeable  day.  "Headquarters"  in  a  large,  hollow 
tree;  young  negro  boy,  "Tommy,"  seemed  delighted 
with  the  honor  of  bringing  the  writer  a  fine  warm  dinner ; 
the  writer  was  equally  delighted  to  receive  it.  At  night 


OF   THE   WAR.  151 

* 

an  opportunity  was  presented  to  obtain  a  closer  view  of 
the  family  of  Mr.  Gleaton,  of  whom  the  writer  had 
recently  heard  so  much  highly  "colored,"  harmless 
gossip.  Through  the  crotch  of  a  peach-tree  he  calmly 
viewed  them  at  supper  —  a  few  feet  away  ;  every  indica- 
tion of  intelligence  and  refinement ;  beautiful  young  lady. 
Before  midnight,  Jack  arrived  from  Freeman's,  under 
orders  from  "  Siss,"  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  the 
writer  —  if  he  had  reached  the  Federal  lines,  and  if  not, 
to  find  him,  "and  not  return  without  him."  The  writer 
willingly  followed  Jack  back  again  to  Freeman's,  reaching 
there  at  daybreak  of  — 

September  21.  — Report  received  that  Confederate  sol- 
diers are  continually  passing  on  the  road,  and  officers 
frequently  enter  the  house  to  make  inquiries  and  indulge 
in  idle  chat.  The  residence  deemed  unsafe  for  "blue 
cloth,"  or  for  any  presence  which  might  excite  curiosity. 
A  comfortable  pallet  on  the  floor  of  Aunt  Hannah's 
kitchen  nicely  meets  the  emergency. 

September  22.  —  Confederate  soldiers  passing  all  day  ; 
many  visit  the  negro  quarters  to  purchase  or  confiscate 
chickens.  Deep  woods  considered  the  only  safe  retreat 
for  a  straggler  in  blue. 

September  23.  —  Extraordinary  commotion,  —  rebel 
troops,  cavalry  and  infantry,  passing  northwardly !  Sol- 


152  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

• 

diers  in  gray  overrun  the  plantation.  Deep  ravine,  four 
hundred  yards  to  the  rear  of  the  cabins,  is  the  safe 
position  to  which  the  l '  blue  ' '  falls  back.  Inquiries  made 
by  Siss  of  some  of  the  officers  develop  that  the  troops 
are  ignorant  of  their  destination.  "  Is  it  a  counter  flank- 
movement  against  Atlanta  ? ' '  Whatever  it  means,  it  seems 
certain  the  campaign  is  not  yet  ended ;  the  broken  col- 
umns are  slipping  from  Sherman's  front,  and  passing  to 
his  flank  and  rear.  Oh  for  a  balloon  to  carry  this  news 
to  our  lines ! 

September  24.  —  "  Confeds.  all  passed,"  they  say; 
considered  "safe  to  come  in;"  welcome;  watching  — 
waiting  —  speculating  —  guessing — drooping  —  dreaming. 
Prospects  fast  fading;  demoralization  —  desperation! 

Sunday,  September  25. — Still  in  the  "slough  of  de- 
spond." As  the  writer  sat  gloomily  brooding  over  fading 
prospects,  with  face  buried  in  his  hands,  he  suddenly  felt 
a  stream  of  cool  water  course  down  his  spinal  column,  and 
heard  the  sweet  voice  of  Siss  saying,  "  George,  wake  up! 
You  must  be  jolly  and  cheerful ;  I'm  not  going  to  let  you 
mourn  about  yere."  After  the  first  shock  of  the  irregu- 
lar baptism  had  passed,  the  cool  joke,  perpetrated  in  the 
spirit  of  mischief,  simply  elicited  a  ghastly  smile  on  the 
writer's  countenance ;  but  a  sly  repetition,  accompanied 
by  a  roguish  laugh,  proved  too  much  for  good  nature  ;  and 


OF    THE   WAR.  153 

as  the  merry  torturer  approached  the  third  time,  remark- 
ing, "This  is  your  bathing  day,  anyway,"  the  contents  of 
a  concealed  glass  of  water  suddenly  splashed  in  her  roguish 
face,  and  before  she  could  recover  from  the  shock,  the 
contents  of  the  glass  intended  for  the  writer  also  bathed 
her  chestnut  tresses.  "There,"  said  he,  "  guess  you've 
got  enough,  now,"  and  returned  to  his  seat  and  indulgence 
in  reverie.  Quick  as  a  flash,  the  entire  contents  of  a  large 
water-bucket  fell  upon  his  head  and  over  his  person, 
soaking  his  clothing  completely  through.  "  That'll  wake 
you  up,"  said  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed,  as  she  beat  a 
swift  retreat,  followed  by  her  completely  drenched  oppo- 
nent, who  seized  a  filled  water-pitcher  en  route,  and  emp- 
tied its  contents  over  her  retreating  person.  "There," 
said  he,  "now  folks  '11  think  we're  Baptists."  There  was 
a  cessation  of  hostilities ;  retirement,  dry  clothes,  and  a 
calm  after  the  "showers."  "The  Yankees  won't  stand 
every  thing,  you  see,"  said  Mrs.  F.  to  Siss,  reprovingly, 
while  the  others  seemed  to  enjoy  our  mutual  discomfort. 

September  26,  27,  and  28. — Still  at  Freeman's,  in 
female  attire ;  simple  repetition  of  scenes  and  incidents 
already  described  as  occurring  at  Freeman's.  Confeder- 
ate stragglers  daily  passing  northward,  evidently  to  join 
their  commands.  "What  does  this  rush  on  Sherman's 
left  flank  mean?" 


154  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

September  29.  —  To-night  Jim  put  in  an  appearance 
again.  His  colored  friends  had  contributed  and  presented 
to  him  eighteen  dollars  in  Confederate  scrip,  to  assist  us  in 
our  extreme  poverty.  Unable  to  use  it  otherwise,  it  was 
presented  to  Mr.  Freeman  by  the  writer.  Jim  has  just 
come  from  Aunt  Mary's,  and  brings  information  of  rumors 
of  "  blue-coats,"  and  that  the  Confederates  "  are  all  done 
gone,"  and  suggesting  that  we  again  attempt  that  end  of 
our  "  line  of  communication."  We  act  on  the  suggestion  ; 
and  after  nine  miles'  march,  during  which  we  discovered 
and  circled  around  the  picket-post,  still  maintained  at 
Cotton  River,  we  again  receive  a  cordial  welcome  from 
dusky  friends  at  Aunt  Mary's.  After  the  usual  fine  sup- 
per, Jim  repaired  to  a  neighboring  plantation  for  informa- 
tion, while  the  writer  was  nicely  provided  with  a  pallet  in 
the  old  cabin-loft.  Nothing  definite,  or  satisfactory,  or 
consoling  concerning  the  armies,  only  "the  Yankees  are 
still  in  Atlanta."  "  What  does  Mr.  Smith  say  now  about 
the  Yankees  taking  Atlanta?"  inquired  the  writer  of 
Aunt  Mary.  "He's  mighty  sober  —  don't  say  any 
thing,"  was  the  reply. 

September  30.  —  Jim  and  the  writer  in  the  familiar 
bower-retreat  in  the  woods ;  council  of  war ;  no  Yan- 
kees —  no  encouragement  —  no  inducements  —  hopeless. 
Determination  to  make  a  last,  desperate  effort  to  reach 


OF   THE   WAB.  155 

the  Federal  lines.  We  have  waited  long  enough  for  our 
friends  in  blue  to  come  to  us ;  now  we  must  go  to  them, 
or  —  or  something  worse !  Dark ;  warm  supper ;  an- 
nouncement of  intentions  —  last  farewells.  Many  ne- 
groes offer  services  and  company  to  our  lines ;  kindly 
declined,  with  satisfactory  explanations  and  thanks  ;  final 
departure,  amid  exclamations  of  "  God  bless  you!  " 
"  De  Lord  be  wid  you !  "  The  night  was  fearfully  dark  ; 
dark,  heavy  clouds  stretched  across  the  heavens,  and  all 
nature  seemed  hushed  with  fear  at  the  approach  of  the 
threatening  storm.  Neither  trees,  nor  roads,  nor  fences 
could  be  distinguished  through  the  darkness  of  the  night. 
Cotton  River  crossed,  but  impossible  to  keep  the  path 
through  the  woods  beyond  it.  After  slow  and  weary 
progress,  and  frequent  contacts  and  stumblings,  we  safely 
reached  "  Gleaton's."  We  had  just  entered  a  friendly 
cabin,  when  the  threatening  storm  burst  forth  with  un- 
usual fury  —  deluge  of  water.  The  rain-drops  pattering 
against  the  exterior  of  the  protecting  cabin  lulled  the 
writer  to  sleep  upon  the  comfortable  pallet  provided  for 
him,  his  carbine  —  constant  companion  and  bedfellow  — 
at  his  side. 

October  1. — Daybreak  found  us  in  the  woods,  the 
hollow  old  poplar  furnishing  ample  protection  from  the 
rain.  Bill  acted  very  acceptably  as  our  commissary  dur- 
ing the  day.  No  news  yet.  We  announced  to  our 


156  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

friends  our  purpose  to  make  a  last  desperate  effort  to 
reach  our  lines.  At  night,  by  arrangement,  there  was  a 
"  fare  well"  assembling  of  our  colored  friends;  we  held 
a  short  conference,  returned  our  heartfelt  thanks  (all  we 
had)  for  kindness  and  favors ;  bade  all  friends  at  Glea- 
ton's  a  last  good-bye,  and  after  the  usual  effort,  and 
marching  through  the  rain,  reached  Freeman's  about  mid- 
night. Jim  repaired  to  the  cabins ;  the  writer  was  kindly 
admitted  to  the  residence  by  Mrs.  F.,  who  discreetly 
tacked  shawls  to  the  windows,  kindled  a  rousing  fire  on 
the  hearth,  and  enabled  the  writer  to  dry  his  clothes ; 
after  which  he  was  kindly  shown  to  bed,  and  slept 
sweetly  until  late  in  the  morning  of  — 

October  2.  —  He  was  awakened  by  a  gentle  tapping  on 
the  door,  and  the  familiar  voice  of  Siss  informing  him 
that  breakfast  awaited  him.  Plantation-hands  are  now 
busy  gathering  "syrup-corn,"  the  product  of  which  is 
called  "  these  syrup  "  and  "  them  molasses."  "  George, 
try  some  of  these  yere  syrup,"  said  Mrs.  Freeman  to 
the  puzzled  writer.  Suppressed  smile.  Aggravation  for 
Mig.  to  blurt  out,  ' '  Please  pass  them  molasses. ' '  Not 
able  to  longer  restrain  pent-up  curiosity,  and  seeking  the 
most  polite  form  of  relief,  the  writer  asked  Mig,  ' '  Mig, 
why  do  you  call  the  molasses  'them?"  "That's  what 
we  all  call  'em,"  quickly  responded  Mrs.  F.  The  ex- 
planation barred  further  inquiry,  and  of  course  was  ac- 


OF   THE   WAR.  157 

cepted  as  satisfactory.  After  breakfast  there  was  a  call  for 
the  writer.  Something  extraordinary !  One  of  the  negroes 
excitedly  told  him  there  was  a  Yankee  in  the  woods  (indi- 
cating the  spot)  who  claimed  to  know  Lieut.  Bailey,  of 
Gen.  M.  L.  Smith's  staff,  and  requested  to  see  him  ;  but 
that  he  "wore  a  Confederate  uniform."  How  now  — 
a  ruse,  a  trick?  A  hasty  glance  at  the  Freemans  thor- 
oughly convinced  the  writer  of  their  innocence.  Could 
they  do  it?  Curse  the  thought!  Whatever  it  may  mean, 
whoever  it  may  be,  I'll  see  him  ;  but  I  shall  be  armed. 

"You  may  say  to  him  that  I'll  see  him  presently  in  the 
woods  where  he  is."  The  negro  departed  with  the  mes- 
sage. The  writer  took  his  loaded  carbine,  and  to  guard 
against  possibilities,  circled  away  around  the  indicated 
concealment,  and  cautiously  approached  the  spot  from 
the  direction  opposite  to  that  of  the  house.  "There  he 
is,  anxiously  peering  toward  the  house  —  his  back  toward 
the  writer."  Near  by  him  sat  two  negro  women  and 
some  negro  children  (runaways),  who  accompanied  him. 
The  writer  still  cautiously  approached  unobserved  to 
within  a  few  yards  of  them  and  halted,  and  cautiously 
scanned  the  gray  rebel  uniform  —  object  of  suspicion, 
though  stuffed  with  straw.  He's  unarmed ;  wears  gray 
whiskers.  All  eyes  strained  toward  the  house,  waiting  for 
a  friend.  "Hello!  "  hailed  the  writer.  All  eyes  turned 
instantly,  and  gazed  inquiringly  at  the  armed  Yankee  in 
blue.  The  one  in  Confederate  gray  arose  and  exclaimed, 


158  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

"Why,  Lieutenant,  how  d'ye  do?"  He  recognized  the 
writer  at  once ;  expressed  great  delight  to  again  look 
upon  a  Federal  uniform ;  related  how  he  had  escaped 
from  the  "pen"  at  Andersonville ;  said  he  was  a  ser- 
geant in  the  Fifty-third  Ohio  Infantry,  and  that  his  negro 
companions  were  runaways,  u  crazy  to  reach  the  Federal 
lines."  The  writer  did  not  remember  the  sergeant,  but 
placed  implicit  confidence  in  his  story.  At  night,  through 
the  influence  of  the  writer,  the  sergeant  was  invited  to 
supper  at  Freeman's,  and  we  all  chatted  pleasantly  with 
him  until  word  came  that  his  dusky  friends  were  awaiting 
him  in  the  road,  when  he  bade  us  good-bye,  with  many 
thanks  and  with  well-filled  haversack.  A  proposition 
for  the  writer  to  join  them  met  with  a  piteous  protest 
from  Jim,  and  fierce  opposition  from  the  Freemans ; 
besides,  the  sergeant  agreed  that  on  such  expeditions 
u  the  fewer  the  better."  Mutual  messages  were  given 
for  delivery  within  the  Federal  lines.  The  writer  never 
heard  of  the  sergeant  afterward. 

October  3.  —  The  road  is  almost  blocked  to-day  with 
the  wagons  of  fleeing  refugees,  who  tell  tales  of  woe, 
and  endeavor  to  induce  a  general  flight  before  the 
advancing  enemy.  Siss  gathers  the  information  from 
them  that  Sherman  and  Hood  are  "playing  chess"  in 
rear  of  Atlanta,  but  that  Yankee  infantry  had  driven  the 
Confederates  from  Flat  Shoals  (a  point  nearly  midway 


OF    THE   WAR.  159 

between  Freeman's  and  Atlanta).  Mr.  Gleaton  is  hur- 
riedly repairing  his  wagons,  preparatory  to  joining  the 
general  flight  of  refugees.  His  negroes  are  also  arrang- 
ing to  retreat  —  the  other  way.  Freeman's  family,  like 
all  the  "poor  white  trash,"  is  to  be  cruelly  left  to  the 
mercy  of  the  hideous  foe. 

October  4.  —  A  clear,  mild,  beautiful  day.  Siss  sagely 
remarked,  "It  isn't  necessary  for  us  to  keep  in-doors 
just  because  there's  so  many  frightened  fools  outside." 
Accordingly,  clad  in  Betsy's  dress  and  protected  by 
a  projecting  sun-bonnet,  Siss,  Nancy,  and  the  writer 
repeated  the  experiment  of  travelling  the  road  for  mus- 
cadines and  grapes.  En  route  to  the  vines  we  were  met 
by  a  corpulent  gent,  mounted,  and  clad  in  butternut. 
"A  neighbor,"  whispered  Siss,  as  he  approached  us. 
He  gallantly  raised  his  hat  and  smiled  pleasantly  as  he 
passed  us,  manifestly  mistaking  the  writer  for  Betsy. 
"What  if  he  stops  at  the  house,  and  sees  Betsy?" 
asked  the  writer.  "He  may  stop  at  the  house,"  said 
Siss,  "but  he  can't  see  Betsy  —  ma's  arranged  all 
that."  (Sagacious  old  lady.)  "He's  an  old  rebel  for 
you  —  bitter  as  gall."  We  reached  the  vines,  crossing 
Honey  Creek  on  a  log,  and  soon  gathered  our  baskets 
full.  The  writer  cut  a  very  ridiculous  figure  in  attempt- 
ing to  climb  the  trees  over  which  the  vines  ran,  to  shake 
off  the  fruit ;  but  his  awkwardness  and  accidents  attrib- 


160  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

utable  to  surplus  "  dry-goods  only  created  the  more 
merriment  for  the  part}^.  When  returning,  we  were  met 
on  the  road  by  Mig,  who  had  been  sent  to  warn  us  that 
"Tommy  Gleaton  "  was  at  the  house,  ostensibly  for  the 
purpose  of  assisting  Mr.  F.  work,  but  whose  real  object 
doubtless  was  to  hunt  some  negroes  who  had  recently 
run  away  from  his  father.  The  woods,  consequently, 
were  deemed  unsafe.  Upon  observing  our  approach, 
Mrs.  Freeman,  under  some  pretence,  induced  "  Tommy  " 
to  accompany  her  to  the  kitchen-building,  across  the 
yard,  while  the  writer,  with  the  other  girls,  safely 
entered  the  residence  and  protection. 

October  5.  —  Open  question  :  "What  is  Tommy's  secret 
mission?"  (He  innocently  slept  under  the  same  roof 
with  the  writer  last  night.)  Extra  caution  was  based 
upon  our  inability  to  solve  the  question.  "Headquar- 
ters" to-day — stretched  on  a  pallet  spread  under  the 
bed  of  the  "spare  room."  While  the  young  object 
of  suspicion  was  in  the  field  with  Mr.  F.,  the  writer 
inspected  his  little  squirrel- rifle  he  had  left  in  the  house  ; 
handy  little  piece  — nicely  finished  —  light ;  throws  round 
ball ;  indications  of  being  much  used ;  no  match  for  my 
carbine;  like  most  rifles — dependent  for  efficiency  on 
the  stuff  behind  it.  During  the  evening,  as  this  proprie- 
tor's son  sat  chatting  before  the  grand  hearth-fire  in  the 
dining-room,  the  writer  embraced  the  opportunity  of  a 


OF    THE   WAR.  161 

•closer  inspection  of  his  person,  from  without,  through  an 
open  rear-door — Siss  kindly  acting  as  a  screen.  Tall, 
slim  figure  ;  smooth,  beardless  face  ;  say,  about  nineteen ; 
long  legs  ;  great  feet  —  out  of  all  manner  of  proportion  ; 
wears  the  great  luxury  of  boots  ;  mystery  —  how  he  can 
4 'navigate'*  in  bad  weather,  encumbered  with  such 
valises;  sits  in  the  house  with  his  soft  hat  on  (manners)  ; 
*'  sweet "  on  the  girls  ;  "  snubbed  twenty  times  a  day ;  " 
forced  to  do  most  of  his  talking  to  the  "  old  lady ;"  good 
shot  on  squirrels  —  frequently  shoots  them  through  the 
head.  Desperately  hates  any  thing  blue;  "can  vanquish 
five  Yankees."  Boasting  boy !  (Like  wine,  "  Tommy  " 
has  doubtless  improved  with  age. )  Is  to  stay  again  all 
night  to-night;  suspicions  again  aroused.  The  writer 
proposes  to  sleep  in  one  of  the  negro  cabins.  "No." 
In  the  woods,  then?  "No."  In  the  house?  "Yes." 
But  if  Tommy  should  have  confederates  or  friends  out- 
side, to  enter  at  midnight?  Ingenuity  of  the  girls  never 
"at  sea."  "You  shall  sleep  with  us."  After  the 
writer  had  partially  recovered  from  the  sudden  shock 
produced  by  this  announcement,  he,  in  bewilderment, 
inquired  of  them,  "What!  With  you?"  (Profuse 
blushes  at  his  stupidity,  illy  concealed  by  subdued 
laughter.)  "Yes,  on  a  pallet  in  our  room ;  you'll  be  safe 
there,  for  no  gentlemen  would  attempt  to  intrude  into 
the  privacy  and  bed-chamber  of  young  ladies,  for  any 
purpose."  The  writer's  attempt  at  relief  by  a  proposi- 

11 


162  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

tion  to  retreat  to  Gleaton's  or  Aunt  Mary's,  met  with  an 
emphatic  "  no  such  thing."  By  the  unanimous  approval 
and  assistance  of  the  family,  the  writer's  natural  modesty 
was  overcome,  and  he  cheerfully  "accepted  the  situa- 
tion;" and,  at  the  proper  time,  was  ensconced  in  the 
safe  and  novel  retreat,  in  half-undress  uniform  resting 
securely  on  the  pallet  in  one  corner  of  the  room  while 
the  three  girls  slumbered  in  their  accustomed  bed  in  the 
other  corner.  There  were  a  few  whispered  remarks  made 
by  the  trio  of  amused  girls,  about  the  "  flank  movement  " 
made  on  suspicion ;  a  whispered  defiance ;  suppressed 
laughter;  a  calm,  motherly  injunction  from  Mrs.  F.,  in 
the  adjoining  chamber,  to  -'be  quiet,  girls;  "  suppressed 
tittering,  which  soon  subsided,  and  all  became  quiet  — 
lulled  in  the  soothing  arms  of  Morpheus. 

October  6. — Last  evening  was  the  time  appointed  by  the 
writer  positively  to  start  for  the  Federal  lines  with  Jim, 
but  he  did  not  appear,  and  his  absence  is  the  cause  of  no 
little  apprehension.  Now  muse  we  on  this  theory :  "Jim 
has  been  caught,  threatened,  questioned,  and  compelled 
to  account  for  his  presence  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
under  promise  of  good  treatment,  delivered  his  secret. 
Young  Gleaton  is  but  a  spy,  or  entering  wedge,  to  effect 
a  'lodgement'  in  the  Yankee's  'headquarters,'  whom 
he  expected  to  '  run  against '  last  evening ;  it  being  the 
appointed  time  to  start  with  captured  Jim.  He  had 


OF    THE   WAR.  163 

ample  assistance,  no  doubt,  near  at  hand,  and  perhaps  rebel 
soldiers,  who  were  to  '  move  forward '  at  a  given  signal, 
and  all  make  neighborhood  heroes  of  themselves  by  cap- 
turing a  live,  armed  Yankee."  "Believe  it?  Of  course 
not;  but  don't  it  look  as  if  it  might  be  so?"  inquired  the 
writer  of  Siss,  who  had  patiently  listened,  with  credulous 
glances,  bat  who  promptly  replied,  with  flashing  eyes, 
which  never  looked  so  beautiful  before,  "They  couldn't 
take  you  while  I  lived  —  never !  " 

"But  they  would  brush  you  away  like  a  cobweb. 
Please  help  me  to  retain  the  little  '  ounce  of  prevention,' 
and  you'll  not  be  troubled,  in  desperation,  to  attempt  a 
'cure.''  The  writer  assured  his  friends  that  he  fully 
realized  that  he  was  armed,  determined,  and  desperate  as 
a  "rat  in  a  corner,"  and  that  if  any  persons  succeeded 
in  reaping  "honors  "  at  his  expense,  it  would  be  for  him 
to  see  that  they  well  earned  them.  His  often-announced 
plan  was  to  alwa3rs  retreat  as  far  as  possible,  and  only  to 
fight  when  absolutely  unavoidable.  But  whether  in, 
retreat  or  fight,  so  long  as  he  possessed  arms  he  never 
intended  to  surrender.  The  utmost  caution  is  to  be  exer- 
cised until  Jim's  failure  to  appear  last  evening,  according 
to  programme,  be  fully  accounted  for,  and  it  be  deter- 
mined whether  his  absence  is  in  any  way  connected  with 
the  other's  presence.  About  noon  we  experienced  a 
genuine  sensation:  "The  Yankees  are  coming — the 
Yankees  are  here!"  Tommy  Gleaton,  who  was  in  the 


164  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

house  at  the  time,  will  remember  well  how  he  uncere- 
moniously "skedaddled"  to  the  woods,  much  to  the 
amusement  of  the  family  and  the  writer,  who  was  excitedly 
summoned  from  his  concealment  to  meet  the  blue-coats. 
He  glanced  up  the  road,  and  sure  enough,  there  they 
came  —  the  blue-coats!  A  nearer  approach  developed 
that  they  were  unarmed.  "Prisoners!"  flashed  across 
his  mind;  caution  enjoined;  they  near — they  pass  the 
house  —  twenty,  at  least ;  four  mounted  Confederates  fol- 
low behind  them.  Subdued  feeling  of  indignation  that 
four  can  guard  twenty  through  lonely  marches  on  unfre- 
quented roads  —  twenty  healthy,  stout,  coffee-drinking 
blue-coats  meekly  submitting  to  the  guardianship  of  four 
sleepy-looking  "grays."  Raining  hard  —  wet,  muddy, 
slippery  —  poor  fellows !  It  was  dark  before  Tommy 
discovered  his  mistake,  and  no  one  took  interest  enough 
to  search  for  him  in  the  woods  and  rain.  He  returned 
with  clothing  wet  through,  and  his  attention  was  occupied 
for  a  considerable  length  of  time  in  drying  them.  Pur- 
suant to  previous  arrangement,  he,  with  two  of  his  young 
friends,  after  supper,  departed  with  dogs,  rifles,  and 
torches,  on  a  "coon-hunt."  Great  suspicion  that  they 
are  playing  "  patrollers,"  and  hunting  two-legged  coons. 
Their  departure  afforded  the  family  and  writer  great 
relief,  and  all  misgivings  vanished  as.  the  welcome 
announcement  was  made  that  Jim,  the  renegade,  had  put 
in  an  appearance,  equipped  and  ready  for  a  march.  The 


OF    THE   WAR.  165 

writer  sought  him,  and  after  numerous  lame  excuses  for 
absence,  he  announced  himself  ready  to  "  move  on  our 
lines "  to-night.  Agreed.  The  writer  announced  this 
intention  to  the  family,  all  of  whom  rather  looked  upon 
the  undertaking  as  extremely  hazardous ;  but  he  was 
impatient,  and  determined  to  wait  upon  uncertainties  no 
longer.  First  he  bade  his  colored  friends  a  last  farewell, 
then  final  preparations  were  made  for  departure.  Three 
locks  of  hair ;  two  cloth  haversacks  made  by  Siss,  and 
well  filled  —  one  with  wheat  biscuits  and  roasted  pork, 
the  other  containing  a  change  of  underclothing  provided 
by  herself  —  the  carbine,  and  additional  ammunition  for 
the  same,  manufactured  by  appropriating  and  placing  the 
powder  from  rebel  cartridges  behind  Union  bullets.  The 
cartridges  taken  by  the  negro  runaway  from  the  cartridge- 
box  of  the  Union  cavalryman  drowned  during  Kilpatrick's 
raid  had  been,  of  course,  wet,  and  the  powder  had 
"caked,"  and  was  unreliable;  but  brown  paper,  Confed- 
erate powder,  linen  thread,  and  combined  ingenuity  soon 
put  dry  Confederate  powder  in  " position"  to  speed 
Union  bullets  through  a  Yankee  carbine.  •  Military  maps 
of  the  country  printed  on  linen  cloth,  pocket-compass, 
canteen,  diary,  and  small  pencil  comprised  the  "baggage" 
of  the  writer  (most  of  which  he  now  possesses  as  relics 
of  the  trip).  The  writer  then  prepared  and  handed  to 
Mr.  Freeman  written  acknowledgments  of  his  loyalty 
and  kindness,  commending  his  family  to  the  favor- 


16G  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

able  consideration  of  all  Federal  officers  and  soldiers. 
The  announcement  that  Jim  was  "waiting  at  the  gate," 
created  a  flutter,  and  plainly  disclosed  the  fact  that 
pent-up  feelings  could  not  be  concealed  much  longer. 
The  little  gray  cape  was  hurriedly  adjusted,  the  trusty 
loaded  carbine  seized,  a  shower  of  thanks  tendered, 
a  last  "  farewell"  uttered,  — a  sudden  start  for  the  open 
door,  and  the  threatened  storm  burst  forth.  Siss,  with- 
out uttering  a  word,  suddenly  threw  her  arms  about  the 
writer's  neck  and  sobbed  aloud.  Then  the  "floods" 
came,  and  the  whole  circle  wept.  What!  moisture  on 
the  cheeks  of  a  soldier  deemed  fit  for  desperate  under- 
takings? Brush  it  away,  and  prove  superior  to  circum- 
stances before  which  women  quail.  The  poor  girl's  ex- 
planation of  her  conduct  was:  "I  have  a  gloomy  pre- 
sentiment that  danger  and  harm  await  you,  and  that  you 
will  never  see  your  home  and  friends  again.  Do  not  go  ; 
stay  where  we  know  you  are  safe —  wait  for  your  folks  to 
come  here."  The  others  added  their  advice  to  wait  in 
safety.  The  writer  replied  that  it  was  beyond  him  to 
express  his  gratitude  for  their  kindness  and  sympathy,  and 
the  interest  they  took  in  him,  but  reminded  them  that  since 
July  22d  he  had  been  striving  to  reach  the  Federal  lines ; 
that  he  had  now  waited  for  our  cavalry  more  than  a  month, 
and  prospects  of  their  coming  seem  lessening;  that  he 
now  deemed  it  his  duty  to  make  this  effort,  dangerous  as 
it  might  seem ;  but  that  his  mind  was  made  up,  and  he 


OF   THE   WAR.  167 

felt  almost  strong  enough  to  force  his  way  to  his  lines 
if  necessary ;  and,  besides  this,  his  friends  in  the  army 
and  at  home  could  not  have  the  faintest  idea  of  his  where- 
abouts. "Now,  consider  all  these  things,  and  feel  with 
me  that  I  ought  to  go."  The  argument  met  the  only 
response  of  deep,  expressive  sobs.  There  was  a  moment 
of  silent  sadness,  and  the  writer  stepped  out  upon  the 
porch,  urging,  "Now  bid  me  a  cheerful,  last  good-bye." 
The  family  followed  to  the  porch ;  each  one  save  Mr.  F. 
bestowed  a  parting  kiss.  Mrs.  F.  said  "Good-bye, 
George ;  I  feel  as  sad  as  though  I  was  parting  from  my 
own  son."  The  sobbing  young  ladies  and  Mig  could 
only  mutter  "  Good-bye." 

"  You  sadly  press  the  hands  of  those 
Who  thus  in  love  caress  you, 
And  soul  responsive  beats  to  soul 
In  breathing  out,  '  God  bless  you.'  " 

But  resolution,  firmness,  courage,  must  supplant  ten- 
derer feelings  now.  I  must 

"  Hide  this  feeling  at  the  heart, 
And  bid  a  careless,  light  good-bye." 

The  writer  was  now  at  the  gate  with  his  companion, 
Jim.  Mr.  Freeman  accompanied  the  writer  a  few  yards 
down  the  road,  tightly  clasping  one  of  his  hands  in  his 
own,  expressing  hopes  of  success,  and  many  thanks  for 
the  poor  returns  for  generosity  and  sympathy  of  his  fam- 
ily. He  assured  him  that  his  family  could  never  forget 
him,  and  would  always  look  back  with  intense  interest 


168  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

and  pleasure  to  the  days  he  had  spent  at  his  house ;  now 
a  long,  strong,  earnest  "shake,"  and  Mr.  F.  returned. 
The  writer  paused  an  instant,  looked  back  gratefully  at 
the  receding  light  in  the  window,  and  the  loud  sobbings 
of  grief-stricken  Siss  were  the  last  sounds  he  heard  at 
Freeman's.  With  an  instinctive  dread,  we  penetrated  the 
gloom  of  the  night,  continually  casting  longing  glances 
behind  at  the  friendly  light  in  the  window,  growing  fainter 
and  fainter,  until  lost  to  our  view.  The  dark  curtain  of 
night  falls  behind  us  on  an  immediate  past  of  grateful 
and  pleasant  memories,  and  there's  a  dark  one  before  us 
about  to  rise  on  an  immediate  future  of  —  we  know  not 
what.  We  now  marched  rapidly  northward,  speechless. 
Thoughts  driven  to  the  front  rush  to  the  rear.  Expe- 
riences bearing  the  stamp  of  romance :  romantic  intro- 
duction ;  extended  protection ;  genuine  sympathy ;  un- 
dissembled  interest ;  unlooked-for  kindness  ;  willing  sac- 
rifices ;  poor,  but  true  to  the  old  flag.  Thoughts  flashing 
in  vivid  recall  of  chief  incidents  of  the  stay  at  Free- 
man's. Ne'er  did  one  leave  "home"  with  more  regret; 
ne'er  was  one  followed  by  purer  sympathy.  That  evil 
presentiment.  Don't  believe  in  'em?  Nor  I;  but  still 
haunted  by  that  earnest  plea  to  heed  the  solemn  warning 
of  another.  A  hasty  summing-up  results  in  entertaining 
sincere  regrets  at  parting  from  friends  and  safety,  to  face 
unknown  dangers.  However,  a  motion  to  reconsider  was 
immediately  ruled  out  of  order. 


OF   THE   WAR.  169 

"  To  the  front!  to  the  front  we  speed." 

Six  miles  from  Freeman's,  we  reach  the  junction  of  the 
Lithonia  road,  which  extends  north-westwardly  to  the  vil- 
lage of  Lithonia,  and  the  railroad  leading  to  Atlanta. 
Here,  beside  a  large  log  near  the  road,  we  take  our  first 
rest  since  leaving  Freeman's.  A  short  reverie:  to  be  cut 
off  or  driven  from  one's  base  of  supplies  is  always  to  be 
considered  as  among  the  most  deplorable  of  military  con- 
tretemps, but  a  voluntary  permanent  abandonment  of  the 
same  can  very  rarely  be  justified  ;  but  we  are  firm  in  the 
belief  that  our  "  abandonment"  and  this  final  desperate 
attempt -are  at  least  fully  warranted.  Our  rest  was  a 
short  one,  after  which  we  proceeded  across  the  fields  to 
the  cabin  of  a  friendly  negro,  who  had  been  recommended 
to  us  as  "  true."  We  arouse  him  ;  he  responds  ;  rubs  his 
eyes  and  stretches  himself,  and  lazily  yawns  out  that  he's 
"mighty  glad"  to  see  us.  After  the  usual  formalities 
and  congratulations,  and  additional  assurances  that  he  was 
really  awake,  the  writer  inquired  of  him,  — 

"  Where  are  the  Yankee  forces  now?  " 

"  Dey's  at  Decatur,  six  miles  dis  side  of  Atlanta.  But 
you'd  better  look  sharp,  honies,  'case  dere's  lots  o'  dese 
yere  Texas  rangers  roaming  'bout  yere  huntin'  runaway 
niggers  and  deserters ;  'twill  go  mighty  hard  wid  yer  if 
yer  cotched!  " 

"  Don't  you  think  we  can  push  through?  " 


170  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

(Shaking  his  head.)  "Dunno,  boys;  dey's  pretty 
sharp. ' ' 

"  Suppose  we  take  to  the  fields  then,  entirely?  " 

(Still  shaking  his  head.)  " Dunno;  I  'vise  yer  to  go 
back,  boys ;  jus  about  impossible  to  git  throo  —  Texas 
fellers  a  hard  lot." 

"We'll  not  go  back,  uncle;  we've  been  back  once  — 
we're  bound  the  other  way  now." 

Bidding  him  adieu,  and  thanking  him  for  his  little  in- 
formation and  poor  advice,  we  consulted  our  compass 
with  the  assistance  of  friendly  fire-flies,  ascertained  the 
direction  desired,  and  as  a  mark  of  our  profound  respect 
for  the  "Texas  rangers,"  concluded  to  avoid  the  roads 
altogether.  We  trudged  onward  through  the  fields,  scal- 
ing fences,  tramping  through  soft,  muddy  cornfields, 
fording  creeks,  tearing  through  woods  and  briers,  until 
the  brightening  eastern  sky  warned  us  of  approaching 
daylight  of  — 

October  7.  —  Lithonia,  and  the  Northern  Georgia  Rail- 
road only  three  miles  away!  A  retired  spot  in  dense 
woods  furnishes  rest  and  "headquarters"  for  the  day. 
We  discover  that  we  are  near  a  log  cabin,  isolated  from 
any  plantation  }  humble  habitation  of  the  poor  —  second 
and  last  in  the  order  of  trust.  Blacks  preferred ;  poor 
whites  —  well,  "mixed;"  no  sounds  —  nothing  to  indi- 


OF   THE   WAR.  171 

cate  occupancy  save  the  blue  smoke  curling  gracefully 
from  the  mud-plastered  chimney.  We  must  take  the 
risk,  however,  of  obtaining  information  of  the  occupants. 
Leaving  Jim  in  the  woods,  the  writer  circled  around 
and  cautiously  approached  the  cabin  from  the  opposite 
direction,  vainly  listening  for  sounds  and  watching  for 
signs  of  life,  but  attracting  no  attention  until  reaching 
the  very  threshold  of  the  open  door.  Within  wfere  a 
white  woman  with  pleasant  features,  and  several  small 
children.  They  gazed  speechlessly  at  the  early-morning 
intruder,  in  apparent  amazement. 

The  writer  smilingly  accosted  her  with,  "Good  morn- 
ing, madam,  —  no  cause  for  alarm." 

"Oh!  "  said  she,  somewhat  flustered,  "Good  morning, 
sir;  excuse  our  appearance  —  we  just  got  up,  sir." 

"Not  the  least  consequence,  madam;  I  just  stopped 
to  inquire  if  you  had  seen  any  Federals  about  here 
lately?" 

"Lor'  no,  sir,  —  they've  all  done  gone;  we've  more 
of  you-uns  nowadays." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  '  you-uns?  '  " 

"Why,  you  Confederates,  what  steal  every  thing  a 
poor  woman  has  got ;  them's  who  I  mean  !  " 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  like  the  Yankees  better  than  Con- 
federates ;  why  didn't  you  go  off  with  'em?  " 

"The  Yankees  never  done  me  as  much  dirt  as  you- 
uns  ;  they're  much  better-behaved  folks." 


172  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"Well,  madam,  I'm  not  a  Confederate  —  I'm  a  Yan- 
kee!" (She  looked  steadily  at  the  writer  an  instant, 
then  slowly  shook  her  head  incredulously.)  Casting  back 
over  the  shoulders  the  little  gray  cape  which  had  con- 
cealed the  blue,  and  exposing  the  Federal  uniform  to  her 
view,  the  writer  asked,  "Well,  what  do  you  think  now?" 
She  gazed  steadily  at  the  glistening  buttons  and  shoul- 
der-straps which  decorated  the  uniform,  looked  suspi- 
ciously into  the  writer's  face,  and  suddenly  responded, 
"No  fooling,  now;  are  you  a  Yankee,  sure  enough?" 
The  writer  assured  her  that  he  was,  and  briefly  explained 
his  absence  from  his  command.  She  continued,  "You 
don't  look  like  our  folks,  nor  talk  like  'em."  The  writer 
offered  additional  evidence  of  his  being  a  genuine  Yankee, 
and  the  lady  finally  expressed  herself  as  satisfied  of  the 
justness  of  his  claim.  Then  she  freely  expressed  herself 
in  still  stronger  terms  of  condemnation  of  the  Confeder- 
ates, and  finally  declared  her  partiality  for  "  blue-coats." 
She  kindly  invited  the  writer  to  "  set  up  and  take  break- 
fast of  what  the  Confederates  have  left  us,"  which  invi- 
tation was  gratefully  accepted.  ('Twill  save  our  rations. ) 
During  breakfast  she  told  the  writer  her  story  of  her  hus- 
band, who  was  drafted  into  the  rebel  army,  but  was  taken 
sick  and  died  at  the  Confederate  hospital  at  Chattanooga. 
She  said,  "I'm  glad  to  say  he  never  did  'em  any  good,  and 
never  fired  a  gun  agin  the  old  flag.  I  tell  'em  the  Yan- 
kees will  whip  'em  all  badly  yet.  I  don't  see  how  it  is, 


OF   THE   WAR.  173 

but  by  their  tell  the  Yankees  were  going  to  be  driven  and 
driven.  Our  folks  were  always  drivin'  'em,  and  drivin' 
'em,  and  the  Yankees  kept  all  the  time  coming  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  now  our  folks  have  driven  'em  plumb 
into  Atlanta;  there's  somethin'  wrong  somewhere."  The 
writer  carefully  observed,  but  recognized  no  indication  of 
deception  in  her  earnest  manner,  and  concluded  he  had 
found  another  white  person  worthy  of  confidence  and 
trust. 

"  Is  this  your  son?"  asked  the  writer,  concerning  the 
eldest  of  the  children,  a  boy  about  thirteen  years  of  age. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that's  my  oldest  boy."     (Introducing  him.) 

He  seemed  to  possess  the  requisite  amount  of  intelli- 
gence and  gumption. 

"Would  you  permit  him  to  do  me  a  favor,  without 
betraying  my  secret  presence  here?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir;  anything  he  can  do  he  will  do.  What 
is  it?" 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Lithonia?  " 

"  Wellnigh  on  to  three  mile." 

"  Could  he  go  there  and  find  out  if  any,  and  how  many, 
Confederates  are  there ;  or  if  any  Yankees  were  there 
lately?" 

"Certainly,  sir;  certainly  he  can."  The  writer  cau- 
tioned him:  "Now  be  careful,  my  boy;  don't  hint  to  a 
soul  that  you've  seen  me,  or  a  blue  uniform."  He  gave 
satisfactory  assurances  of  fidelity  and  secrecy,  and  was 


174  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

soon  on  the  road  to  the  village,  receiving  a  motherly 
injunction  of  secrecy  as  a  "send-off."  The  writer 
expressed  his  sincere  thanks  for  the  sympatlry  expressed 
and  the  kindness  received  at  the  hands  of  the  lady,  chatted 
pleasantly  with  the  children  a  few  moments,  explained 
the  presence  of  Jim  in  the  woods  as  his  companion 
and  guide,  and  promising  to  return  at  sunset,  rejoined 
Jim  in  the  retreat  of  the  forest,  passing  from  sight  east- 
wardly  and  circling  around  to  the  retreat,  west  of  the 
cabin  —  the  usual  plan  adopted  to  put  "off  scent"  both 
observed  and  unobserved  observers.  The  day  was  spent 
in  rather  gloomy  reverie.  Thoughts  of  the  past  flitted 
through  the  mind:  terrible  battle  of  July  22d  —  "hell 
of  scenes  and  noises" — the  ghastly  dead.  That  the 
old  Army  of  the  Tennessee  should  be  driven  from  its 
works !  Extrordinary  reasons,  eh  ?  Fire  from  the  rear, 
and  being  flanked  by  a  column  charging  through  the  rail- 
road cut;  that  a  portion  of  the  line  should  be  driven 
back,  then,  under  any  circumstances,  however  aggravat- 
ing, leaving  those  who  remain  at  their  posts  longest  to 
be  "gobbled."  Consolation  that  the  lost  ground  was 
immediately  regained ;  still,  that  glorious  fact  don't 
restore  me  to  my  command.  And  comrades  in  the  old 
army,  and  friends  at  home — what  do  they  think  of  this 
mysterious  absence?  August  22d  was  one  month  ;  Septem- 
ber 22d  was  two  months ;  October  7th  two  months  and  a 
half.  Two  months  and  a  half  since  a  view  of  the  old  colors 


OF   THE   WAR.  175 

waving  through  the  smoke  of  battle  ;  how  much  brighter 
would  they  appear  to  me  now !  How  did  the  General  and 
balance  of  the  staff  come  out  of  the  battle  ?  How  did  the 
old  Sixth  Missouri  Infantry  get  through  —  officers  and 
men,  and  my  company?  and  what  experiences  have  they 
all  had  since  the  battle  and  separation?  And  relatives 
at  home  —  are  they  dead  or  alive  ?  Did  co-prisoners  yet 
reach  our  lines  and  tell  of  my  escape  ?  A  reverie  of  ques- 
tions only  ;  responses  —  blank  —  blank  —  blank !  Dead 
to  everything  and  everybody  in  the  world  save  imme- 
diate desolate  surroundings.  It  seems  a  long,  long  time 
since  the  battle.  I  wonder  how  they've  put  a  fellow  on 
the  muster-rolls  —  "killed, "  u  wounded,"  "captured," 
or  "  missing?  "  Oh  for  a  safe  transit  to  our  lines  !  Now 
the  long  shadows  of  evening  silently  creep  through  the 
woods,  and  thousands  of  little  warblers,  most  mugical  at 
close  of  day,  are  vieing  with  each  other  in  sweet  rendi- 
tion of  evening  songs.  Golden  flood  of  sunlight ;  even- 
ing's balmy  hour  —  dusk. 

"Footsteps  of  angels  follow  in  her  trace, 
To  shut  the  weary  eye  of  day  in  peace." 

Dusky  landscape;  objects  more  and  more  indistinct. 
44  Voices  of  the  night."  Nature's  late  evening  concert  — 
in  contrast  with  that  of  the  sweet  warblers,  who  have  all 
hushed  upon  the  approach  of  night  —  frogs,  crickets, 
whippoorwills. 

Dark.     Pursuant  to  promise,  we  repair  to  the  friendly 


176  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

cabin  of  the  "anti-Confederate"  lady  for  the  coveted 
information.  "  Good  evening ;"  introduction  to  Jim  ; 
seeking  the  desired  information.  The  boy  replied :  — 

"I  only  saw  two  Confederate  cavalrymen  in  gray 
coats  and  pants,  who  were  getting  their  horses  shod  at 
the  blacksmith's;  no  Yankees  'bout  for  a  long  time." 

Thanking  the  lady  and  her  son  for  their  kindness  and 
interest  and  services,  we  bade  them  farewell,  and  started 
for  the  village  of  Lithonia.  Safe  —  no  force  there  ;  only 
three  miles  northward.  Forward!  No  star  visible  but 
the  star  of  hope ;  but  the  dense  fog  upon  the  earth  we 
welcome  as  a  friendly  cover,  and  speed  on.  We  have 
certainly  marched  more  than  three  miles,  but  where  is  the 
village  ?  No  sounds ;  no  lights.  The  trusty  little  com- 
pass is  consulted.  What!  has  the  compass  turned 
rebel,  or  does  it  tell  us  truly  that  we  are  travelling  south- 
ward? A  vigorous  shaking  fails  to  shake  the  compass 
from  its  position,  and  with  characteristic  indifference  it 
maintains  its  assertion  that  we  are  facing  south.  We 
had  followed  a  bend  in  an  intersecting  wood,  and  were 
unable  to  detect  it  sooner  by  reason  of  the  dense  fog. 
Negligence ;  what  do  we  carry  a  compass  for  ?  Fog 
slightly  clearing ;  log  cabin  near  by ;  we  approach ;  a 
rap  at  the  door ;  it  was  slowly  opened  by  a  plainly  attired 
lady;  family  inside,  of  ladies  and  children.  Without 
explanation,  the  writer  simply  inquired  for  the  shortest 
cut  to  the  main  Lithonia  road.  A  small  obscure  path  was 


OF    THE   WAR.  177 

pointed  out  as  one  leading  directly  to  it,  across  the  fields. 
^'Thanks,  madam;"  off;  the  family  somewhat  agitated, 
crowd  to  the  door,  and  peer  through  the  darkness  at  our 
retreating  forms.  Headless  family,  as  usual ;  wonder 
•where  all  the  men  are?  Rapid  marching  to  make  up 
for  lost  time  constitutes  our  self-inflicted  punishment  for 
stupidity.  The  fog  has  risen,  and  we  can  clearly  dis- 
tinguish the  houses  of  the  village  looming  up  above 
the  foliage,  in  dull  relief  against  the  star-lit  sky.  We 
ascend  a  knoll  near  the  suburbs,  and  are  now  in  full  view 
of  the  village.  Halt !  listen !  No  sounds  save  the  bark- 
ing of  the  faithful  watch-dogs  of  the  sleeping  village,  and 
the  shrill  whistle  of  the  whippoorwills  surrounding  us ; 
silent  as  the  grave.  "There's  the  road  that  will  lead  us 
straight  to  the  railroad."  To  circle  around  the  town  will 
-consume  too  much  time,  and  incur  greater  risk  of  pur- 
suit, if  discovered  off  the  road ;  even  the  dogs  would 
bark  louder  at  us.  We  determine  to  proceed  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  single  file  —  writer  ahead  —  and 
inarch  silently  and  rapidly  for  the  railroad.  "Time  is 
precious,  and  we  must  reach  Decatur  and  our  lines  by 
daybreak,  only  fifteen  miles  away."  Fatigued,  footsore, 
but  determined,  we  proceeded  in  the  execution  of  the 
programme,  and  had  safely  reached  a  point  within  three 
blocks  of  the  coveted  railroad,  when  two  large  dogs,  scent- 
ing us,  came  into  the  road  and  barked  furiously  at  us, 
while  we  increased  our  pace ;  one  of  the  dogs  alternately 

12 


178  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

howling  dismally ;  shortly  afterward,  two  white  men 
emerged  into  the  road,  both  coatless,  and  briskly  fol- 
lowed us,  manifestly  endeavoring  to  overtake  us.  The 
•writer  and  Jim  now  marched  together  in  the  retreat,  but 
the  pursuers  seemed  decidedly  to  gain  on  them.  Instinc- 
tively the  hammer  of  the  writer's  carbine  was  raised  with 
a  sharp  u  click/'  and  a  little  closet  contact  would  have 
necessitated  a  turning  and  a  challenge  of  these  appar- 
ently unarmed  curiosity-hunters ;  as  it  was,  we  succeeded 
in  maintaining  a  proper  distance  without  so  dangerous  an 
expedient.  We  now  saw  our  opportunity,  rapidly  passed 
to  the  sidewalk,  glided  behind  a  church,  swiftly  over  a 
fence  or  two,  circled  around  toward  the  railroad,  reach- 
ing another  road,  and  thus  escaped  further  pursuit  or 
observation.  As  we  now  cautiously  approached  the  rail- 
road, we  discovered  before  us  a  fire  by  the  roadside  ;  we 
pause  —  listen  —  observe.  There  are  men  about  the  fire  ; 
what  if  they  should  be  blue-coats?  Single  file — stealthy 
approach ;  the  tell-tale  camp-fire  now  clearly  discloses- 
uniforms  of  gray.  Another  circling-around  process 
through  the  fields,  after  all  our  pains  to  avoid  them, 
and  finally  two  tired,  jaded,  sore-footed,  but  happy 
and  grateful  tramps  stood  upon  the  coveted  Northern 
Georgia  Railroad,  west  of  Lithonia  —  safe.  "  I  wonder 
where  that  boy's  eyes  were,  who  told  us,  '  no  soldiers  in 
town?'"  Jim  pleaded  for  "rest,  rest;  "  but  there's  no 
rest  —  long  after  midnight,  and  Decatur  fifteen  miles 


OF   THE   WAR.  179 

away.  "We  are  on  the  home-stretch  now,  Jim,  and 
we  must  completely  wear  ourselves  out  in  order  to  reach 
our  lines."  No  halting,  no  resting,  no  lagging;  we  are 
between  the  lines  of  the  two  armies,  and  daylight  will 
find  us  at  Decatur,  or  —  worse.  On  we  speed,  and  after 
a  long,  speechless,  rapid  march,  in  single  file,  north- west- 
wardly  on  the  railroad,  we  rested  just  a  moment,  and 
were  again  in  rapid  motion.  We  were  now  marching 
very  rapidly,  and  resting  but  a  short  moment  at  long 
intervals ;  excellent  time ;  buoyancy  of  spirits  despite 
raw  and  bleeding  feet.  Onward!  Onward!  Jim,  by 
extra  effort,  overtakes  the  writer  and  renews  his  pleading; 
for  rest,  muttering  "  I's  worn  out;  I  can't  stand  dis ;; 
my  feet's  gin  out,"  etc.  Pleading  "  overruled  ;  "  there's, 
no  halt — no  rest;  half  running,  leaping  along  from  tie^ 
to  tie,  like  steeds  fresh  from  the  stable.  Now  grand  old 
Stone  Mountain  looms  up  against  the  dim-lit  western  sky ; 
we  rapidly  approach  —  we  pass  it.  On,  on  we  flee,  until 
speed  is  finally  lessened  by  caution  —  an  object  ahead ; 
it's  a  frame  house  immediately  beside  the  track.  Slack- 
ened speed  —  stealthy  approach  —  a  halt.  We  listen; 
no  sounds  but  our  own  labored  breathing.  We  rest  — 
stretching  our  weary,  worn  frames  on  the  track-bed,  and 
relieving  our  raw,  blistered,  and  bleeding  feet  from  the 
weight  of  our  bodies  for  a  moment,  preparatory  to  the 
fresh  undertaking  before  us ;  then  up,  and  cautiously 
onward  again,  slowly,  in  single  file,  approaching  the  sus- 


180  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

pected  hut  beside  the  track.  A  sharp  turn  in  the  railroad 
freed  us  from  gloomy  timber,  but  suddenly  disclosed  a 
camp-fire.  An  exceedingly  cautious  investigation  dis- 
closed a  railroad-cut,  with  the  banks  of  earth  extending 
upward  on  both  sides  of  the  track  ten  or  twelve  feet ;  the 
house  loomed  up  beyond  it ;  the  fire  was  on  the  opposite 
summit  of  the  hillock,  near  the  opening  made  by  the  cut ; 
suspicion  that  it's  a  picket-post  commanding  the  railroad. 
A  slow,  cautious  approach  of  the  writer  on  u  all- fours  "  to 
a  favorable  position,  which  discloses  that  around  the  fire 
lie  men  in  gray  uniforms  —  that's  quite  sufficient  for  our 
purpose.  Too  tired  and  foot-sore  to  undertake  the  cus- 
tomary tedious  and  circuitous  route  around  them,  and 
deriving  much  comfort  in  the  belief  that  it  is  the  Con- 
federate outpost,  we  determined  to  pass  beneath  them. 
The  situation  was  fully  explained  in  whispers  to  Jim, 
who  was  doubly  cautioned  of  danger  and  of  the  neces- 
sity of  absolute  silence,  and  the  novel  adventure  began. 
Single  file,  fifteen  feet  apart  —  on  "all-fours"  —  the 
writer  leading,  the  two  slowly  and  silently  entered  the 
gloomy  cut ;  arose,  hugged  the  earthen  bank,  and 
safely  passed  twelve  feet  beneath  the  drowsy  sentries. 
We  reached  a  safe  position  west  of  the  fire,  somewhat 
worse  for  slimy  mud,  and  halted  opposite  the  house  we 
had  seen  before  seeing  the  fire.  It  seems  a  safe  distance 
from  the  picket-post,  and  was  separated  from  it  by  a 
small  ravine  and  the  railroad;  not  a  sound  from  it  —  still 


OF    THE   WAR.  181 

and  dark  as  the  grave.  But  morning  is  rapidly  approach- 
ing ;  our  chances  are  desperate.  Leaving  Jim  beside  the 
railroad  track,  the  writer  stepped  to  the  door,  listened  a 
moment,  then  knocked.  Sepulchral  echoes  only  responded. 
He  knocked  again,  and  louder,  instinctively  glancing  in 
the  direction  of  the  picket-fire,  to  detect  any  commotion 
about  it.  A  rustle  inside  —  signs  of  life.  A  gentleman 
in  "undress  uniform"  partially  opened  the  door,  and 
inquired  rather  gruffly  :  — 

"Well,  what's  wanting?" 

"Captain,  how  near  is  our  picket-post  here  to  the 
Yankees?  " 

"  Why,  they're  at  Decatur  yet;  their  pickets  are  about 
a  mile  this  side,  on  the  railroad." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  Captain?" 

"Well,  they  were  there  last  night,  for  I  see'd  'em." 

Information  considered  reliable,  and  the  writer  turned 
to  leave,  inwardly  congratulating  himself  that  he  had  not 
been  placed  under  the  military  necessity  of  prevarication, 
pleasantly  saying:  "Thank  you,  sir  —  sorry  to  disturb 
you,  Captain;"  when  the  other  rather  authoritatively 
blurted  out,  "Well,  see  'ere,  stranger  —  who  are  you, 
anyhow  ? ' '  The  writer,  harsh  in  manner,  but  rather  fright- 
ened at  the  bottom,  promptly  replied,  "  Capt.  Blake,  of  the 
Thirty-fifth  Georgia;  and  I  want  correct  information,  and 
if  you  mislead  us,  down  will  come  your  house  —  under- 
stand?" "Oh,  it's  jest  as  I  tell  you,  Captain;  you'll 


182  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

find  it  so,  Captain"  (evidently  swallowing  the  bait). 
The  writer  anxiously  peered  toward  the  quiet,  undis- 
turbed picket-post ;  then  Jim  was  rejoined  in  a  twinkle, 
and  away  we  joyfully  flew  Atlantaward  —  "by  rail!" 
Decatur  only  four  miles  away !  Who  our  informant 
was,  whether  soldier  or  hoosier,  we  know  not  and  care 
not.  A  mile-heat,  and  Jim  renews  his  fretting  at  the 
hardship:  "Dis  is  too  swift  for  my  feet."  But  there 
was  no  slackening  of  speed,  no  rest;  away  we  speeded, 
greatly  stimulated  by  the  latest  intelligence,  and  vainly 
endeavoring  to  forget  the  burning,  itching,  and  scalding 
sensations  produced  by  torn  and  bloody  feet ;  leaping 
cheerfully  from  tie  to  tie,  Jim  piteously  urging,  "  I 
can't  keep  up  —  no  use  talking  —  can't  do  it !  ' '  We  halt 
for  a  moment,  only  to  agaai  urge  upon  Jim  the  absolute 
necessity  of  wearing  our  feet  out  in  the  attempt  to  reach 
our  lines  and  safety  —  only  three  miles  away!  The 
writer's  feet  were  causing  him  great  pain  —  burning, 
scalding,  smarting,  itching  —  not  a  spot  an  inch  square 
of  nature's  covering  on  either  foot;  and  the  hard,  irri- 
tating leather  of  his  boots,  reddened  by  frequent  wettings 
and  exposure,  mercilessly  lacerated  the  already  torn 
and  bleeding  flesh;  their  cruel  harshness  but  partially 
softened  and  appeased  by  the  free  offerings  of  bloody 
feet !  Yet,  what  could  he  do  ?  He  could  not  travel  over 
the  gravelled  road-bed  nor  through  the  fields  barefoot ; 
nothing  can  be  gained  by  tearing  still  more  the  lacerated 


OF   THE   WAR.  183 

flesh  by  pulling  them  off  and  on.  There's  but  one  con- 
clusion—  there's  no  relief  outside  the  Federal  lines. 

The  brightening  eastern  sky  reminds  us  of  rapidly  ap- 
proaching day  ;  yet  on  with  the  march  —  we  must  reach 
Decatur  at  any  cost.  On,  on  —  limping  and  desperately 
struggling  westward !  Brighter  and  brighter  grows  the 
early  morning ;  it  is  dawn.  Broad  da3^1ight  now  steals 
upon  us  like  an  unwelcome  guest,  but  still  onward ; 
sunrise  —  "Old  Sol"  sheds  forth  his  golden  rays  over 
the  landscape ;  but  still  onward,  onward !  We  can  now 
see  through  the  timber  the  houses  of  Decatur  —  glorious 
sight ! 

We're  only  one  mile  from  town ;  but  where  are  our 
outposts?  Still  on  and  on  we  limp,  and  struggle,  and 
stagger,  in  desperation  and  hope.  We  now  joyfully  see 
our  breastworks  ;  no  sounds  —  no  sights  —  smoke  curling 
gracefully  from  behind  them  up  through  the  foliage; 
somebody  must  be  there.  Suddenly  our  attention  is 
called  to  the  mysterious  conduct  and  stealthy  actions  of 
two  white  men  near  a  residence  to  the  south  of  us,  and 
about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  railroad  —  one  in  gray, 
the  other  in  butternut ;  one  approaches  the  other  from  the 
timber,  and  receives  a  small  package ;  breakfast  ( ?)  ; 
they  seem  unmindful  of  us,  who  still  continue  our  limp- 
ing march  in  full  view.  Whoever  they  are,  they  seem 
harmless,  and  their  apparent  timidity  is  our  encourage- 
ment. Now  we  enter  the  Federal  fortifications  extending 


184  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

across  the  railroad,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  east  of  the  town,, 
and  find  they  are  vacated  —  camp-fires  still  smoking,  but 
the  Federals  gone.  Smiling  Hope  had  beckoned  us  on, 
only  to  make  despair  the  more  certain.  The  coveted 
Federal  lines  at  last,  and  nothing  to  greet  us  but  the 
refuse  of  a  camp  and  the  smouldering  remnants  of  camp- 
fires  which  were  kindled  by  friends !  Despondent  — 
hungry  —  foot-sore  —  cheated  —  exhausted  —  chafed  — 
irritated  —  lacerated  —  drooping  in  the  gloom  of  fading 
hopes. 

"  Weary  of  living,  so  weary ; 
Longing  to  lie  down  and  die !  " 

Slowly,  sadly,  and  silently  we  limp  through  the  familiar 
scenes  of  an  abandoned  camp,  select  a  secluded  nook  in 
the  timber  beyond  it,  and  establish  "headquarters" 
for  the  day  on  the  bank  of  a  pearly  little  brooklet  which 
had  furnished  the  prior  occupants  of  the  camp  with  water. 
To  proceed  further  seemed  an  absolute  impossibility ; 
with  great  difficulty,  causing  great  pain,  was  Jim  able  to 
pull  the  hardened  boots  from  the  writer's  swollen  and 
bleeding  feet.  Thus  we  considered  ourselves  established 
for  — 

October  8.  —  To  remain  here  we  knew  would  be  extra 
hazardous,  but  to  depart  —  impossible. 

"Well,  Jim,"  said  the  writer,  despairingly,  while  bath- 
ing his  lacerated  feet  in  the  cool,  flowing  water  of  the 


OF   THE   WAR.  185 

little  rivulet,  and  breaking  a  long,  gloomy  silence,  "  you'd 
better  sleep  while  I  keep  guard ;  you  can  take  a  good, 
long  sleep,  and  then  watch  while  I  sleep."  Jim  was 
agreeable,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  period  the  immediate 
vicinity  became  resonant  with  most  unearthly  snoring  — 
sufficient  to  raise  the  dead!  "Poor  Jim,"  thought  the 
writer,  as  he  viewed  his  prostrate  form;  "he  thought  it 
would  be  fun  to  follow  a  Yankee  to  our  lines."  It  was 
neither  sacrifice,  nor  preference,  nor  lot  that  secured  for 
Jim  the  first  sleep  after  our  "crowning  effort."  For 
the  writer,  pain  prohibited  sleep,  though  the  cooling 
ripples  of  the  streamlet  manifestly  allayed  inflammation 
and  considerably  lessened  suffering.  While  Jim  slept, 
his  companion  in  misery  sat  gloomily,  half  thinking,  half 
dreaming ;  and  while  the  refreshing  waters  played  grate- 
fully around  his  lacerated,  useless  feet,  the  tide  of  grief 
seemed  fast  rising  to  overwhelm  him.  Bitter,  bitter  dis- 
appointment touches  the  eyelids,  and  other  streamlets 
copiously  flow  to  the  music  of  the  gurgling  rivulet. 
Morning  dew-drops  still  linger,  sparkling  on  the  sur- 
rounding foliage,  and  — 

"  Tears  are  hung  on  every  tree : 
For  thus  my  gloomy  fantasy 
Makes  all  things  weep  with  me." 

As  the  writer  sat  thus  sadly  musing,  he  observed  a  boy 
of  about  thirteen  approach,  and  suddenly  start  off  in 
another  direction.  He  wears  a  full  Federal  uniform.  Is 


186  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

he  really  a  friend  ?  or  did  he  discover  us,  and  now  retreats 
to  spread  the  secret?  Such  suspense  and  uncertainty  not 
to  be  willingly  endured.  Oh,  the  wonderfully  attractive 
power  of  blue  cloth !  The  writer  was  desperate  enough 
to  trust  in  the  deceptive  cloth  alone ;  he  limpingly 
approached  the  wearer  of  it  —  barefooted,  bareheaded, 
coatless  —  and  overtook  and  hailed  the  youth  in  blue. 
He  turned,  apparently  much  surprised,  and  gazed  at  the 
coatless,  hatless  challenger,  and  looked  sympathetically 
at  his  swollen,  bleeding  feet.  The  writer  inquired :  — 
"  Who  are  you,  my  friend?  " 

"I'm  a  native  here,  sir  —  don't  belong  to  the  army." 
"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  uniform  on,  then?  " 

"I  was  employed  by  Lieut.  ,  quartermaster 

on  Gen.  Cox's  staff,  Twentieth  Army  Corps." 
"  Gen.  Cox  of  the  Federal  army  ?  " 
"Yes,  sir." 
"Whereabouts?" 

"Here  in  Decatur,  sir,  where  they  were  stationed." 
"  When  did  they  leave,  bub  ?  "    (Patronizingly. ) 
"Dunno;  sometime  last  night.     They  were  here  last 
night  and  gone  this  morning;  that's  all  I  know,  sir." 
(Torturing  information. ) 

"Do  yon  know  what  I  am,  bub?  "     (Smiling.) 
"  Oh  yes,  sir;  I  know  you're  a  Federal  by  your  blue 
pants." 

Are  you  friendly  to  the  Federals  ?  ' ' 


t ; 


OF    THE   WAR.  187 

4 'Yes,  sir;  always  was  friendly." 

"Well,  you  see  I'm  in  distress;  will  you  do  me  the 
favor  of  finding  out  for  me  whether  the  Federals  have 
left  Atlanta  too,  if  possible,  by  inquiring  around  Deca- 
tur  and  bringing  me  word  here  at  dark  to-night?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  I'll  do  all  I  can  for  you."  (Casting  piteous 
glances  at  the  "worthless  feet.)  "  I'll  find  out,  sir." 

"Now  let  me  caution  you,  bub,  not  to  speak  of  my 
presence  here  to  a  living  soul ;  can  I  trust  you  for  that?  " 
"Yes,  sir;  you  can  trust  me.     I  won't  tell,  sir." 
"  Well,  I  rely  upon  your  honor  now,  and  trust  you." 
"You  can  trust  me,  sir.     I'll  be  back  near  dark." 
And  nodding  adieu,  he  was  soon  lost  to  view  through 
the  woods.     Alas !  that  forced  interview.     It  was  now 
after  noon,  by  sun ;  the  writer  painfully  limped  back  to 
"headquarters,"  and    awakening   Jim,  apprised   him  of 
what  had  occurred.  We  then  took  the  usual  precaution  to 
change  our  "headquarters,"  whence  we  could,  unobserved, 
observe  any  approach  to  the  old  one.     The  writer's  turn 
now  came  to  welcome  sleep.     Feet  less  painful,  but  fear- 
fully swollen.     How  far  did  we  march  last  night?     Let's 
see :  three  miles  to  Lithonia,  three  miles  out  of  our  way 
and  return  —  that's  six  and  three  are  nine,  and  fifteen 
to    Decatur  —  that's    twei^-four,    and    at    least    three 
measured  in  circling  around  the  village  and  obstacles  — 
that's  twenty-seven  miles ;  equal  at  least  to  thirty-seven 
under  favorable  circumstances.     Jim  agrees  fully. 


188  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"Now,  Jim,  remember  and  shake  me  well  upon  the 
least  suspicious  sound  or  sight ;  keep  your  ears  and  eyes 
wide  open  ;  we're  in  a  dangerous  place,  but  we  have  this 
little  breech-loader  (carbine),  and  can,  if  necessary, 
force  a  halt  of  any  thing  short  of  a  crotvd  at  a  respectful 
distance,  if  }rou  'waken  me  in  time.  Now  be  cautious, 
Jim." 

"  Oh,  I'm  suttain  to  do  it  —  suttain  to  do  it." 

The  writer  placed  the  loaded  carbine  beside  him, 
propped  his  feet  up  from  the  ground,  and  almost  instantly 
became  unconscious  in  the  soothing  embrace  of  sweet 
sleep.  Alas,  alas !  that  sleep.  Fitful  dreams  of  armies, 
and  woods,  and  negroes,  restored  feet,  home  and  friends, 
passed  through  the  mind  of  the  exhausted  sleeper,  who 
had  placed  implicit  reliance  in  the  diligence  of  his  rested 
companion,  until  he  was  suddenly  awakened  by  an  ex- 
clamation, in  a  loud  tone  of  voice,  "Halloo,  there!  " 

Opening  his  eyes,  he  beheld,  standing  at  his  feet,  a  man 
in  a  butternut  uniform  —  double-breasted  coat,  with  two 
rows  of  brass  buttons,  slouch  hat,  and  wild  eye.  "My 
God!  my  God!  what  does  this  mean?"  He  took  de- 
liberate aim  down  the  barrel  of  his  rifle  at  the  motionless 
writer's  breast,  and  excitedly  demanded,  "Surrender?" 
The  writer  looked  the  excited  butternut  square  in  the  face, 
but  uttered  not  a  word.  "Where  is  Jim?"  Slightly 
turning  his  head,  he  observed  another  person,  in  a  Federal 
uniform,  armed  with  a  rifle,  and  standing  guard  over  Jim, 


OF   THE   WAR.  189 

a  few  yards  distant.     (Disparaging  compound  of  mysti- 
fication  and   mortification.     "How  did  this   happen?") 
"Well,"  asked  the  butternut,  "what  do  you  say?" 
"Am  I  to  be  treated  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  sir?  " 
"  Oh,  certainly,  sir;  most  assuredly,  sir." 
"Well,  I  see  no  alternative;  I'm  your  prisoner,  sir." 
Now,  how  did  this  happen  ?     Turning  to  Jim,  the  writer, 
perhaps  rather  sharply,  inquired : 
"Jim,  how  did  this  happen?" 

"  Well,  Lieutenant,  you  might  a-known  I'd  fall  asleep 
when  de  warm  sun  struck  me."  Indignation  at  white 
heat,  threatening  to  burst  the  bands  of  poor  concealment ; 
but  indignation  cannot  restore  freedom  ;  anger  cannot 
mend  affairs.  Well,  discretion  may  "  take  the  reins  "  if 
it  can  hold  the  team.  But  Jim  fell  asleep  ;  Jim,  who  has 
slept  all  morning ;  Jim,  who  was  fully  apprised  of 
danger;  Jim,  who  was  "certain  to  watch."  "Ah!  Jim, 
Jim,  that  confidence  could  be  so  misplaced  in  you!" 
The  butternut  now  gathered  the  writer's  carbine,  care- 
fully examined  it,  replaced  the  cap  with  one  of  his  own, 
and  seemed  more  at  ease.  The  writer  said : 
"  That  cap  was  not  put  on  to  miss  fire,  sir." 
"Likel}',  but  I'd  rather  trust  one  of  my  own." 
The  following  conversation  then  substantially  occurred, 
which  the  writer  feels  certain  will  be  recognized  as  correct 
by  all  who  heard  or  participated  in  it.  The  butternut  was 
the  spokesman  ;  the  one  in  blue  was  evidently  subordinate, 


190  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

and  simply  "seconded  motions."  Said  the  former  to 
the  writer,  — 

"  What  is  your  rank,  sir  —  and  regiment?  " 

"  First  Lieutenant,  A.  D.  C.  on  Second  Division  staff, 
Fifteenth  Army  Corps  ;  my  regiment  is  the  Sixth  Missouri 
Infantry." 

"From  Missouri,  eh?  That's  one  of  our  States,  and 
you  fighting  on  the  other  side,  eh  ? 

"  That's  hardly  fair,  sir.  Missouri  fought  herself  into 
the  Union,  although  a  slave  State,  and  those  on  the  Union 
side  think  she  deserves  all  the  more  credit  for  it.  Mis- 
souri's my  native  State;  I'm  not  ashamed  of  her  record 
in  this  war." 

"You  say  you  were  born  in  Missouri?  " 

"Yes,  sir  — in  St.  Louis." 

The  two  captors  smiled  at  each  other  incredulously. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Bailey's  my  name,  sir  —  and  yours?" 

"Foster."  The  one  in  blue  looked  suddenly  and 
sharply  around  at  "  Foster  "  —  had  he  inadvertently 
given  his  real  name? 

But  in  subsequent  conversation,  why  was  the  name  of 
"  Fowler  "  substituted  for  that  of  "  Foster  "  by  the  un- 
reserved ' '  boy  in  blue  ?  ' '  The  stupid  disclosure  of  the 
latter  is  considered  superior  authority  to  the  guarded 
answer  of  "Foster,"  hence  our  hero  in  butternut  will  be 
designated  as  "Fowler." 


OF   THE   WAR.  191 

Since  the  recapture,  the  writer's  almost  uncontrollable 
indignation  boiled  at  the  sight  of  that  blue  uniform.  It 
found  partial  vent  when  he  turned  sharply  to  the  wearer 
and  asked: 

"What  do  you  think  would  become  of  you,  sir,  if 
caught  by  our  troops  engaged  in  this  business  in  a  blue 
uniform?"  With  guilty  look  he  replied:  "  Well,  in  the 
first  place,  sir,  I  don't  intend  to  be  caught;  this  is  our 
business,  you  know." 

"Very  questionable  and  dangerous  sort  of  business." 

A  new  light  dawned  upon  the  writer's  mind  as  he 
mused :  ' '  This  blue  uniform  was  to  be  used  as  decoy  to 
capture  me,  if  awake ;  it  was  to  entice  to  a  '  friend '  only 
to  disclose  a  treacherous  foe." 

"  Our  business  "  to  prowl  about  under  false  colors,  to 
gain  some  mean  advantage  over  deceived  and  unsuspect- 
ing victims.  Void  of  manly  courage  which  would  present 
the  soldier  at  the  front,  the  "  business  "  of  decoying  the 
unwary  restrains  cowardly  souls  to  the  rear. 

"  Wears  friendship's  mask  for  purposes  of  spite, 
Fawns  in  the  day,  and  butchers  in  the  night ; 
With  the  cold  caution  of  a  coward's  spleen, 
Which  fears  not  guilt,  but  always  seeks  a  sween." 

Let  the  reader  receive  a  more  satisfactory  introduction 
to  these  reconcilers  of  the  "blue  and  gray." 

"Fowler"  —  About  five  feet  eight  inches  in  height, 
well  proportioned ;  light  auburn  hair ;  rather  long,  flow- 


192  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

ing,  sandy  beard ;  mustache ;  piercing,  light  blue  eyes ; 
slouch  felt  hat ;  voice  rather  pleasant  (except  when  it 
first  aroused  the  writer  with  unwelcome  summons  to 
surrender).  Grayish-brown  or  butternut  Confederate 
uniform  —  double  breasted  coat,  with  two  rows  of  brass 
buttons;  manner  —  rough,  firm,  and  uncouth.  "  Orna- 
ment,"—  breech-loading  Henry  rifle.  His  portrait  in 
this  volume  represents  him  with  his  mustache  and  much 
of  his  beard  shorn,  but  the  same  lovely  features  are 
there  —  the  same  noble  countenance,  the  same  angelic 
expression,  the  same  tender,  pathetic  look,  the  same 
meek  and  lamb-like  expression  of  the  soft  blue  eyes  — 
all  of  which  so  captivated  the  writer  in  1864,  and  which, 
doubtless,  will  tempt  the  appreciative  admiration,  espe- 
cially of  those  who  can  bring  to  their  aid  the  interesting 
science  of  physiognomy. 

The  "  boy  in  blue  "  we  will  introduce  as  one  who  dis- 
graces the  honorable  name  of  ''Singleton."  How  do  I 
know?  That's  immaterial  for  present  purposes;  it  is 
sufficient  that  it's  a  fact.  He  seemed  to  be  about  five 
feet  nine  inches  in  height;  dark  and  rather  short  hair; 
large  black  eyes ;  black  hat ;  dressed  in  a  complete  and 
apparently  not  much  worn  Federal  infantry  uniform ; 
decidedly  unbecoming  in  blue !  ' '  Ornament "  —  a  United 
States  Springfield  rifle,  calibre  69.  (Did  he  get  the  ' '  orna- 
ment" where  he  got  the  blue  uniform?) 


FOWLER. 


OF   THE   WAR.  193 

4 *  What  are  you  doing  with  this  nigger  here?"  asked 
Fowler,  referring  to  terrified  Jim.  The  writer  replied: 

''He  knows  the  country  and  roads,  and  I  accepted  his 
services  as  my  guide.  He  has  been  here  before,  I  be- 
lieve." Turning  to  the  frightened  negro,  Fowler  inquired 
of  him : 

"Where  did  you  come  from,  boy?"  (Presuming  on 
association  with  the  writer,  doubtless,  Jim  promptly 
responded : ) 

"  I  c'sider  my  home  in  St.  Louis,  sar." 
4 'How  did  you  get  'way  down  here,  then?" 
"Come  down  wid  Lieutenant  dar  —  wid  de  army." 
"  Hovv'd  you  get  inside  our  lines?  "    (That's  a  poser!) 
"Wid   Lieutenant   dar,  sar."     (Fowler   seemed   puz- 
zled.) 

Jim's  adeptness  as  a  prudent  liar  took  the  writer  com- 
pletely by  surprise,  and  thinking  that  perhaps  the  life 
of  the  "  nigger  "  might  depend  on  it,  the  writer  attempted 
to  rescue  him  by  explaining:  "He  don't  mean  he  was  a 
soldier,  sir ;  he  means  to  say  that  he  came  down  with  me 
from  St.  Louis  as  my  servant,  and  that  he  was  captured 
with  me  at  the  battle  of  Atlanta  —  is  that  it,  Jim?  " 

"Dat's  it,  sar,  zactly,"  said  Jim  quickly,  jumping  at 
the  suggestion  like  a  trout  at  a  fly. 

"So  you  were  taken  prisoner  before  Atlanta,  were 
you,  sir?"  asked  Fowler  of  the  writer. 

"  I  was,  sir,  — the  day  Gen.  McPherson  was  killed." 
13 


194  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"Where  have  you  been  ever  since  that  time?  " 

"Part  of  the  time  a  prisoner,  —  the  other  part  trying 
to  get  back."  (Glances  indicating  incredulity.) 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Jim  had  been  a  "  run- 
awaj^  nigger"  for  more  than  a  year,  and,  like  the  writer, 
was  a  "gemman  of  de  woods,"  entirely  dependent  for 
aid  and  comfort  upon  the  charity  and  good-will  of  sym- 
pathizing strangers ;  but  he  voluntarily  undertook,  and 
perhaps  wisely,  to  conceal  these  facts  from  our  captors ; 
and  the  writer  recognized  the  "military  necessity"  of 
having  his  story  appear  consistent,  and  experienced  con- 
siderable relief  when  he  had  succeeded  in  diverting  atten- 
tion from  the  "d — d  nigger." 

Fowler  now  placed  Singleton  on  guard,  while  he  pro- 
ceeded to  search  the  prisoner  for  "contraband  of  war." 
The  writer  kindly  assisted  him.  The  maps  of  the  country 
printed  on  linen  were  passed  as  dirty  handkerchiefs,  by 
dexterously  exposing  only  the  unprinted  sides.  (How 
thankful  was  the  prisoner  that  he  had  presented  his  watch 
and  other  valuables  to  his  friends  further  south.)  After 
viewing  the  valueless  "  assets,"  he  remarked,  "All  I  want 
now  is  the  pocket-book  —  best  one  I've  seen  for  some 
time;  the  other  things  you  may  keep  a  while  longer." 
("^4  while  longer?"  What  does  he  mean  by  that?  Pos- 
sible?) First  flash  of  suspicion  of  intended  foul  play  — 
ominous  glances.  "Well,  you  may  fix  up  now  to  go 
with  us." 


OF    THE    WAR.  195 

The  prisoner  donned  his  coat,  and  after  much  pain 
succeeded  in  pulling  his  hardened  boots  on  his  lacerated 
feet,  and  endeavored  to  obey  the  peremptory  orders  of 
his  captors  ;  he  limped  obedience.  The  party  marched  to 
the  abandoned  Federal  earthworks  in  single  file  —  Single- 
ton, in  blue,  leading ;  then  came  the  writer,  then  Jim, 
then  Fowler  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  carrying  his  own 
and  the  captured  rifle  —  one  on  each  shoulder.  As  we 
neared  the  works,  the  writer  recognized  the  boy  in  the 
Federal  uniform  with  whom  he  had  conversed  in  the 
morning,  and  who  had  so  faithfully  promised  not  to 
betray  him.  He  was  accompanied  by  another  boy  of 
about  his  age,  and  both  seemed  to  have  been  interested 
spectators  of  the  capture  from  a  safe  distance.  The 
writer  hailed  his  morning  friend  with,  "  Well,  young  man, 
you  betrayed  me,  didn't  you?" 

"No,  sir;   I  didn't,"  he  replied. 

"Who  did?" 

"This  feller."     (Pointing  to  his  companion.) 

"Well,  who  told  him?" 

"I  did,"  said  he,  rather  hesitatingly. 

"  Well,  didn't  you  promise  me  faithfully"  — 

"There  —  stop  that,"  said  Fowler,  savagely  ;  "don't 
ask  that  boy  any  more  questions ;  do  you  understand 
that?"  (The  prisoner  thought  he  did.) 

We   passed  beyond  the  breastworks,  eastwardly,  and 


196  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  Fowler  (rear  guard) 
hailed  Singleton  (advance  guard),  remarking,  with  an  illy 
concealed  wink,  "We  must  turn  this  cuss  over  to  our 
cavalry,  and  get  rid  of  him  before  dark." 

Singleton,  with  a  knowing  look,  nodded  assent. 

"Where  is  the  cavalry  post?"  the  writer  ventured  to 
inquire. 

"At  the  Circle,"  responded  Fowler. 

"  The  4  Circle?  '    Where's  that,  sir?  " 

"  You'll  find  out  soon  enough." 

(Another  significant  exchange  of  glances  between  the 
"guards.")  We  had  now  cleared  the  open  space  in 
front  of  our  abandoned  works,  and  halted  at  a  beautiful 
spring  of  clear  water.  Our  guards  lay  on  the  ground 
alternately  and  drank ;  so  did  Jim.  Fowler  said  to  the 
writer,  "You'd  better  get  down  and  drink,  sir;  you 
won't  get  water  again  right  away."  (Glancing  at  Single- 
ton.) The  writer  was  thirsty  enough,  but  an  indescriba- 
ble something  restrained  him  from  accepting  the  invi- 
tation. "Thank  you;  I'm  not  very  thirsty."  (More 
significant  glances.)  We  continue  the  march.  "My 
feet  pain  me  so,  gentlemen,  that  I  must  ask  you  to  move 
slower;  you  see  I  can  hardly  limp  along  with  you." 
Fowler  responded,  "  Never  mind ;  you  won't  want  to 
use  'em  much  longer."  (That  settles  it;  they  are  going 
to  shoot  us !  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  that  remark. 


OF    THE    WAR.  197 

Yes,  at  last  we  feel  that  it  is  "possible;"  this  is  their 
"business,''  in  which  they  earn  their  arms  and  blue  uni- 
forms. ) 

"  Within  the  hollow,  sighing  woods 
A  vague,  mysterious  sadness  broods." 

Singleton  now  turned  to  Fowler  and  remarked,  with  an 
inquiring  look,  "  We  can  cut  across  the  woods  here  to 
the  road,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes,"  responded  the  latter,  and  we  penetrated  the 
thick  woods,  changing  direction  until  well  advanced 
therein,  when  there  occurred  another  exchange  of  glances 
between  the  front  and  rear  of  our  little  column,  followed 
by  a  halt. 

(Has  the  critical  moment  arrived?)  Fowler  sharply 
remarked  to  Singleton,  "  See  'ere,"  and  both  moved  apart 
from  their  prisoners  for  consultation.  Now.  if  my  feet 
were  not  useless,  how  I'd  lessen  the  distance  between  us ; 
but  —  helpless  —  hopeless  !  ' '  Jim, ' '  said  the  writer  (sotto 
voce),  "they're  bent  on  killing  us  —  they're  certainly  bent 
on  killing  us!"  (Jim's  eyes  opened  wide;  he  looked 
wild.)  "There's  but  one  thing  left  for  us  to  do,  Jim; 
we  must  fight !  "  (Jim  slightly  shook  his  head. )  "Then 
we  must  die  like  dogs,  without  an  effort.  No!  no!  let's 
take  the  last  chance.1" 

Fowler  now  stealthily  approached  from  behind  us, 
manifestly  endeavoring  to  steal  the  purport  of  our 
conversation,  but  the  writer  immediately  turned  it  on 


108  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

to  affairs  at  St.  Louis.  Other  similar  attempts  resulted 
the  same.  It  was  impossible  for  them  to  consult  pri- 
vately without  according  to  us  the  same  privilege,  and 
we  kiieiv  it.  Their  consultation  was  renewed  —  so  was 
ours.  "We're  enough  for  'em,  Jim,"  urged  the  writer, 
encouragingly.  "I'll  grab  the  rifle  ahead,  as  he  carries 
it  over  his  shoulder,  and  if  I  don't  knock  him  over  with 
it,  I'll  hold  on  to  it  tightly,  so  he  can't  shoot  us ;  and 
when  I  grab,  the  man  behind  will  shoot  me  immediately, 
if  you  don't  stop  him!  Will  you  let  him  shoot  me, 
Jim?" 

"  No,  sir;  I  won't  let  him  shoot  you." 

"Will  you  turn  on  him,  Jim,  and  stick  to  him, — hold 
on  to  him  so  he  can't  shoot,  until  I  can  come  to  you,  or 
you  to  me?  " 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Jim,  excitedly.  "I's  suttain  to 
do  it  —  suttain  to  do  it."  (But  will  he?) 

"  When  you  see  my  hands  flap  on  both  sides,  look  out, 
and  be  ready,  Jim ;  that  will  be  the  signal  to  grab." 

"I's  suttain  to  do  it,  Lieutenant;  you  may  'pend  on 
me  dis  time,  — suttain  sure  to  do  it." 

"  We  can't  be  any  worse  off,  Jim  ;  and  by  this  we  may 
be  better  off." 

"  I  see,  I  see  ;  you  may  'pend  I'll  do  it." 

"  Here  they  come,  Jim.     Now,  strike  quick  and  strong." 

The  double  conference  being  over,  we  resumed  our 
march  through  the  thick  woods,  as  before,  —  Singleton 


OF   THE   WAR.  199 

leads  the  column,  the  writer  following  him ;  then  came 
Jim,  followed  by  Fowler.  Singleton  carried  his  rifle 
loosely  and  carelessly  over  his  shoulder,  within  easy 
reach  of  the  writer ;  Fowler  carried  a  rifle  on  each 
shoulder.  With  stealthy  glances,  the  writer  determined 
the  exact  band  upon  which  his  first  grasp  should  tighten. 
Beyond  the  rise  in  the  ground,  a  few  feet  ahead,  the 
struggle  must  begin.  We  reach  the  knoll,  and  gradually 
descend  into  the  little  valley  beyond,  —  ''the  valley  of 
death."  (?)  How  the  thoughts  crowd  through  the  mind. 
Feeling  of  dread.  Success  of  one  party  —  certain  death 
of  the  other;  which  will  it  be?  Begin  at  that  sapling 
there,  —  "No!  no!  more  delay;  not  quite  yet,  —  just 
one  moment  longer.  Could  I  but  tear  loose  from  this 
invisible  restraining  demon!"  Here  is  a  good  spot  — 
"wait?"  "Don't  lose  the  opportunity, — don't  wait. 
Will  Jim  do  his  duty?  Our  lives  depend  on  that!  Trust 
him  —  try  him ;  he's  awake  now.  Do  they  notice  my 
agitation  ?  No  more  excuses,  —  no  more  hesitation  ;  be 
quick,  —  be  strong.  Strike  !  ' ' 

"A  mighty  yearning,  like  the  first 
Fierce  impulse  unto  crime !  " 

The  eye  is  fixed  upon  the  band  of  the  rifle ;  the 
writer  increases  his  limping  pace,  closing  right  up  to  the 
unsuspecting  leader.  Now!  now!  "Just  beyond  this 
stump,  and  I  will!"  All  the  powers  of  soul  and  body 
are  pledged  and  concentrated  for  the  desperate  work ; 


200  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

the  hands  flap  the  tardy  signal,  —  lo!  the  scene  changes. 
We  halt.  All  advantages  still  retained  by  the  captors ; 
stupid  delay ;  cowardly  hesitation ;  golden  opportunity 
lost  —  lost  —  lost.  Singleton  turned  and  exchanged  sig- 
nificant glances  with  Fowler.  "  What  if  we  were  mis- 
taken as  to  their  intentions?  Some  lives  would  have 
been  sacrificed  to  no  purpose."  We  were  not  long  kept 
in  the  possibility  of  doubt.  Fowler  stood  the  captured 
carbine  against  a  stump,  coolly  cocked  his  rifle,  and, 
looking  the  writer  steadily  in  the  face,  said  (how  well  he 
remembers  —  how  the  words  were  burned  into  the  tablet 
of  his  memory):  "My  friend,  this  is  as  good  a  place 
to  die  as  any  man  could  wish."  There  was  a  choking 
sensation  for  an  instant,  as  the  writer  fully  realized  the 
significance  of  the  solemn  words,  but  quickly  rallying, 
he  inquired : 

"  Why  am  I  to  be  killed,  sir?  Didn't  you  promise  to 
treat  me  as  a  prisoner  of  war?  " 

"  Well,  this  is  the  way  we  treat  our  prisoners  of  war." 

The  writer  looked  him  steadily,  full  in  the  face,  speech- 
less, for  a  long  moment,  and  for  an  instant  he  seemed 
not  a  little  annoyed  by  the  silent  rebuke,  but  suddenly 
resumed : 

"You  are  a  d — d  Yankee ;  and  the  d — d  Yankees  stole 
my  wife's  skillet,  and  I'll  have  no  mercy  on  'em.  You've 
got  to  die,  sir."  (Peculiar  sensations.)  "But  many  acts 
were  done  in  both  armies  that  the  officers  did  not  approve 


OF    THE   WAR.  201 

of.  It's  very  hard,  sir,  that  I  must  die  for  the  act  of  one 
of  our  soldiers,  committed  while  I  was  a  prisoner  in  your 
lines,  and  of  which  1  could  not  have  any  knowledge  or  con- 
trol. Here,  I'll  give  you  papers  which  I  think  will  pro- 
tect you  against  such  depredations  in  future.  Besides, 
sir,  the  act  was  not  murder ;  the  offence  don't  merit  such 
punishment  as  this."  "I  don't  care,  sir;  papers  don't 
protect ;  even  Gen.  Sherman  gave  papers  that  didn't 
protect;  I'll  fix  you,  d — n  }rou,  and  then  I'll  be  better 
satisfied."  (Shallow  pretext  in  the  absence  of  a  cause. 
The  sheep  striving  to  argue  the  wolf  out  of  his  supper.) 
4 'This  is  very  hard,  sir, — very  hard  ;  my  relatives  and 
friends  will  never  know  what  became  of  me."  Turning 
to  Singleton:  "Can't  you  have  something  to  say  in 
my  behalf,  sir?  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve  such 
treatment  as  this.  Do  you  approve  of  this,  sir?  Can't 
you  intercede  to  prevent  deliberate  murder?  "  Singleton 
seemed  touched  by  the  earnest  appeal  to  his  manhood ; 
gazed  pitifully  at  the  writer  with  his  great  black  eyes  a 
moment,  then  hung  and  slowly  shook  his  head.  (Evi- 
dently a  struggle  within  him  between  a  sense  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  of  his  incurred  obligation  to  Fowler.) 
Driven  to  utter  desperation,  the  writer  proposed  to  take 
his  surrendered  carbine,  with  one  round  of  ammunition, 
any  distance,  and  decide  his  right  to  live,  in  a  rifle  duel 
with  the  best  marksman  of  the  two  captors  ;  well  knowing 
that  if  this  appeal  to  their  courage  and  chivalry  proved 


202  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

successful,  he  could  fortify  himself  behind  a  tree,  and 
bid  them  defiance  with  the  several  rounds  of  ammunition 
still  concealed  on  his  person  and  several  dry  caps  still  in 
his  vest  pocket.  The  proposition  was  scouted  at  once, 
and  seemed  to  furnish  Singleton  with  an  excuse  for 
smothering  even  the  slight  sympathy  he  had  previously 
evinced. 

"D — n  him,"  said  he,  "he  wants  to  fight." 
Singleton  then  asked  Fowler  (sotto  voce) : 
"  What'll  we  do  with  him  after  we  shoot  him?" 
"Bury  the  cuss,"  calmly  replied  Fowler. 
"  But  we've  nothing  to  dig  with,"  suggested  Singleton. 
"Oh!   well,  ther're  plenty  of  leaves, — the  hogs   will 
take   care   of  the   rest;"    then    turning   to   the    writer, 
unaware  that  he  had  heard  the  interesting  conversation, 
Fowler  very  considerately  said : 

"  We'll  bury  you,  sir,  if  we  can,  — if  that's  any  conso- 
lation for  you."     The  writer  was  silent. 

Nothing  will  answer  but  blood.  Reason  baffled  —  argu- 
ments impotent  —  appeals  vain  —  hope  fled  —  crushing 
despair !  To  die  in  battle  —  to  fall  at  the  front  —  what 
a  luxury  compared  to  this ;  but  for  this  was  I  born, — 
to  this  have  I  come  at  last;  face  it,  then,  like  a  soldier! 
The  writer  folded  his  arms  and  slowly  bowed  his  head  — 
hopeless. 

He  saw  nothing —  he  felt  nothing  but  heavy  pulsations 
beating  like  a  muffled  drum ;  he  heard  nothing  but  his 


OF   THE    WAR.  203 

own  labored  breathing ;  he  hurriedly  thought  of  home 
and  friends  far  away,  and  then  solemnly  of  the  great, 
mysterious  future,  —  and  was  ready  to  die.  Why  this 
delay?  He  raised  his  eyes  and  beheld  the  trio  before 
him  steadily  gazing  at  him  ;  firmness,  hatred,  and  deter- 
mination seemed  depicted  on  the  two  white  countenances, 
sympathy  and  pity  on  the  black.  A  suggestion  suddenly 
flashed  through  his  mind :  take  the  very  last  chance  — 
run!  Foolhardy  attempt.  He  rapidly  mused:  "If  I 
stand,  I'll  be  killed ;  if  I  run,  it  cannot  be  worse ;  there's 
a  chance  one  way,  none  the  other.  If  I  can  surprise 
them  by  a  sudden  and  unexpected  movement,  it  will  serve 
to  unsteady  their  aim,  as  the  sudden  spring  or  flight  of 
game  unsteadies  the  aim  of  the  sportsman ;  beside,  I  can 
run  zig-zag,  which  will  all  the  more  confuse  them."  Do  it ! 
do  it !  The  writer,  as  if  unwittingly,  slowly  turned  his 
head  carelessly,  and  in  an  instant  surveyed  the  ground 
behind  him.  The  observant  Singleton  instantly  remarked : 

"  He's  fixing  to  run  !"     Fowler  responded  : 

"  Let  him  run,  —  let's  see  how  far  he'll  get?" 

"Ah,"  said  the  writer,  "it's  too  late  to  run  now;  I 
can  hardly  walk,  even  had  I  chance  to  run.  But  —  but 
would  you  give  me  twenty  steps?  " 

"  No,  sir!"  emphatically  replied  Fowler. 

"  Ten?  "  asked  the  writer. 

" No,  sir,  —  not  an  inch." 

On  one  or  two  occasions,  as  Mr.  Fowler  will  well  remem- 


204  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

!>er,  as  the  writer  inadvertently  stepped  toward  him,  he 
brought  his  rifle  clown,  like  a  zealous  sentry,  and  presented 
it  to  the  writer's  body,  warning  him  not  to  "  undertake 
any  of  his  Yankee  tricks."  More  than  once  the  prisoner 
half  expected  to  feel  the  sting  of  his  rifle-ball.  Fowler 
finally  said: 

"Well,  sir,  we've  fooled  away  enough  time  with  you, 
and  now  if  you  want  to  pray  a  little,  you  have  a  mo- 
ment or  two  to  do  it."  (Casting  a  significant  glance  at 
Singleton. ) 

"Thanks,  sir;  thanks."  (It's  manifestly  too  late  to 
pray  "deliver  us  from  evil;"  God  helps  those  who  help 
themselves.  Heartless,  bloodthirsty  brutes. ) 

"Your  time  is  a'most  up  already,"  urged  Fowler; 
"you  must  hurry."  (That  evaded,  dreaded  moment  is 
being  rapidly  forced  forward.) 

To-  allay  suspicion  of  his  intention,  the  writer  rested 
one  knee  on  the  ground.  Instantly  Fowler's  glance  flashed 
to  Singleton,  and  both  rifles  bore  upon  the  writer's  breast. 
He  comprehended  the  predetermined  programme  to  shoot 
him  in  that  position,  in  a  flash,  and  immediately  arose 
and  demanded  the  promised  "two  minutes." 

"You've  had  'em,  —  you've  had  'em,  d — n  3^011,"  said 
Fowler,  whose  lips  were  now  bloodless  and  quivering  with 
excitement.  "Kneel  there !  "  demanded  he,  staring  wildly 
at  the  prisoner,  whose  thoughts  were  now  all  behind  him. 
Quick !  the  dreaded  instant  is  here. 


OF   THE   WAR.  205 

The  writer  bent  his  knees  as  if  to  kneel,  but  only  to 
spring.  Quick  as  a  flash,  he  suddenly  sprang  backward, 
and  turning,  fled  at  full  speed,  maintaining  a  zig-zag  mo- 
tion which  was  exceedingly  creditable  to  his  lacerated  feet, 
that  responded  nobly  to  the  call  upon  them  to  assist  in 
one  last,  desperate  effort  to  place  their  possessor  beyond 
the  range  of  hostile  rifles.  Of  course,  the  spring  was 
the  signal  to  fire,  and  fire  they  did !  Three  shots  were 
fired  at  the  retreating  form  of  the  prisoner  (?)  in  rapid 
succession,  and  a  fourth  later. 

The  first  was  from  the  rifle  of  Fowler,  and  while  the 
writer  was  hardly  five  feet  from  its  muzzle.  He  felt  the 
hot  breath  of  the  rifle  almost  scorching  his  left  cheek. 
"Missed!  "  Excellent  marksman, — too  far  to  the  left, 
brother  Fowler. 

The  second  was  from  the  "  U.  S.  Springfield"  in  the 
hands  of  Singleton,  in  blue,  when  the  writer  had  gained 
some  fifteen  feet  in  distance.  Calmer  than  Fowler,  his  aim 
was  more  accurate,  despite  the  zig-zag  feature  maintained 
by  the  retreating  form.  The  large  rifle-ball  struck  the 
mark,  and  the  writer  was  instantly  and  violently  hurled  to 
the  earth,  —  so  violently,  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  though 
the  earth  arose  and  struck  him  in  the  face.  A  deadly 
quiver  was  felt  for  an  instant,  and  the  right  arm  (penning 
these  lines)  fell  paralyzed  and  useless  to  the  ground. 
"There  goes  my  arm,"  thought  the  writer,  but  the  ball 
had  penetrated  deeper;  it  passed  through  the  body 


206  A    PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

and  right  scapula  (shoulder-blade),  penetrating  the  right 
lung,  shattering  an  upper  rib,  and  baring  the  subclavian 
artery  in  its  passage.  The  hot  blood  spirted  out  fear- 
fully ;  but  no  sooner  down  than  up.  The  third  shot  must 
have  been  from  the  writer's  captured  carbine  in  the  hands 
of  Fowler ;  and  just  as  he  was  rising  (he  knows  not  how), 
the  third  report  rang  through  the  woods,  and  he  felt  his 
cap  suddenly  leave  his  head,  and  flying  blue  cloth  indi- 
cated how  near  the  ball  came  to  the  mark.  There  is  a 
possibility  that  the  credit  for  marksmanship,  accorded  to 
Singleton  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment  and  rapid  firing, 
belongs  to  Fowler,  but  the  large  size  of  the  wound  seems 
to  confirm  the  impression  that  the  credit  belongs  to  the 
"  boy  in  blue."  But  up,  up,  and  on  he  flew,  holding  the 
helpless  right  arm  up  with  the  left,  as  the  speed  was  in- 
creased, and  all  pains  forgotten  in  the  flight  for  life.  At 
every  pulsation  the  blood  spirted  fitfully  from  the  gaping 
wound,  and  the  writer,  with  excited  misgivings,  heard  the 
ominous  gurgle  of  the  ebbing  life-current  as  it  freely 
bathed  the  right  side  of  his  body,  and  clotted  in  his 
hardened  boot.  "Three  rifles  —  three  shots,"  and  addi- 
tional relief  came  with  the  abandonment  of  the  difficult 
zig-zag  feature  of  the  flight.  Another  shot !  Where  from  ? 
Reloaded?  Impossible!  The  ball  harmlessly  scatters  the 
leaves  a  safe  distance  from  the  writer.  Distance  between 
ex-captors  and  ex-captive  now  lengthens  rapidly,  but  a 
slight  turn  of  the  head  detects  dreaded  sounds  of  pur- 


OF    THE   WAK.  207 

suit.  Speed  was  still  more  increased ;  effort  was  put 
forth  to  the  very  utmost ;  all  the  powers  of  the  failing 
body  were  urged  to  retain  the  advantage  gained.  On 
like  the  wind,  with  the  determination  to  spend  the  last 
particle  of  strength,  the  last  drop  of  blood,  for  the 
precious  privilege  of  dying  free  from  the  grasp  of  the 
bloodthirsty  fiends.  But  the  speed  was  suddenly  slack- 
ened, instinctively,  at  the  call  of  a  familiar  voice  ring- 
ing through  the  woods,  "Lieutenant!  O  Lieutenant! 
Please  wait  for  me!"  'Twas  Jim!  He  shortly  after 
overtook  the  writer,  and  seemed  overjoyed,  exclaiming, 
"I  nebber,  nebber  seed  a  thing  done  so  quick  as  dat  in 
all  my  life.  Gemmen,  dat  beats  de  debil !  "  After  lie 
had  recovered  his  breath  sufficiently  to  heed  something 
beyond  his  own  excited  utterances,  he  suddenly  seemed 
to  suspect  the  writer's  condition,  and  looking  intently  into 
his  blanched  face,  asked  : 

"Why,  Lieutenant,  are  you  hurt?" 

"Yes,  badly  hurt,  I  guess;    didn't  you  see  me  fall?" 

"Yes,  but  I  thought  you  just  stumbled  ;  you  got  up  so 
quick,  I  'eluded  you  wasn't  hurt."  Looking  wildly  at 
the  torn  and  bloody  coat,  he  asked : 

"Where,  Lieutenant?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  only  my  arm  at  first,  but  I  see  it's 
deeper  (glancing  at  the  torn  coat-breast)  ;  I  don't  dare 
look  yet.  How  did  you  get  away,  Jim?  " 

"  When  dey  emptied  all  de  guns  on  you,  you  think  I'se 


208  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

gwine  to  stay  wid  Jem,  — who,  me?  No,  sir.  Dey  fired 
one  shot  after  I  left ;  wasn't  time  to  load,  — must  a'  had  a 
pistol  or  'volver  too,  I  reckon,  eh?" 

"  Did  they  fire  at  you  too?" 

"  Dunno,  — didn't  hit  me  if  dey  did  ;  must  a'  fired  at 
me  tho'.  My  Lord!  you  was  done  gone  in  a  jiff!  " 

"  Well,  Jim,  didn't  they  try  to  follow  us?  " 

"'No-o-o,  sir!  What!  ketch  you?  You  was  done 
gone,  I  tell  yer,  —  clean  gone  out  o'  sight  in  a  flash." 

The  writer  could  hardly  suppress  laughter  at  the  enthu- 
siasm of  his  excited  companion,  and  the  effort  caused 
expectoration.  What!  Blood?  and  the  moisture  about 
the  mouth  bloody,  too  ?  No  mistake  —  bleeding  at  the 
mouth. 

14  Jim,  we  must  get  away  from  here.  They'll  expect 
us  to  go  for  the  railroad,  or  north-west  toward  Atlanta,  so 
we'll  go  south.  Let's  see  the  compass?  (Examines  it.) 
You  can  help  me  over  the  fences,  Jim ;  I  feel  I'm  badly 
hurt." 

Now,  the  other  living  witnesses  to  what  occurred  dur- 
ing our  short  acquaintance  in  the  woods,  if  so  disposed, 
can  fully  corroborate  what  is  herein  stated.  Call  Mr. 
Fowler  —  call  Mr.  Singleton. 

We  were  now  about  a  mile  from  the  scene  of  "  battle," 
whence  we  rapidly  walked  perhaps  two  miles  further 
southwardly,  when  the  writer's  failing  strength  compelled 
a  halt.  Ghastly,  and  weak,  and  bleeding ;  overcome  with 


OF    THE   WAR.  209 

excitement,  fatigue,  and  great  loss  of  blood,  he  suddenly 
became  dizzy,  reeled  an  instant,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 
"Water!  Jim,  water!"  Jim  ran  quickly  to  a  neighbor- 
ing brook  and  returned  with  a  canteen  of  cool,  refreshing 
water,  of  which  the  fainting  soldier  drank  eagerly ;  after 
which  Jim  kindly  bathed  his  forehead,  looking  pitifully 
into  the  pale  features,  while  tear-drops  rapidly  chased 
each  other  down  his  black  cheeks.  He  finally  asked, 
imploringly,  "Lieutenant,  can  you  eber  forgive  Jim  for 
dropping  asleep  dat  time?  "  (Tears  flowing  faster.) 
"Yes,  Jim;  promise  3-ou'll  never  speak  of  it  again?" 
"Thanks,  Lieutenant.  But  oh!  you  look  so  sick." 
"Jim,  that  was  a  bad  shot;  and  if  I  should  die,  tell 
the  Federals,  if  you  reach  them,  how  this  happened.  Give 
them  my  name  —  Bailey  —  Morgan  L.  Smith's  staff." 
The  writer  also  requested  that  some  one  write  to  his 
friends,  giving  their  address. 

"Now.  will  you  remember  all  this,  Jim?"    (Jim  nodded 
assent.) 

"Sure,  Jim?"  (Continued  nodding.) 
The  eyesight  of  the  wounded  soldier  grew  dimmer  and 
dimmer;  objects  grew  more  and  more  indistinct;  the 
questions  were  presented:  "Is  this  realty  death?  The 
great  mystery  mine?"  There  was  a  lingering,  dreamy 
realization  of  passing  existence,  weary  eyelids  slowly 
closed  o'er  willing  eyes,  followed  by  a  gradual  'soothing 
relapse  into — oblivion.  He  slumbered,  he  knows  not  how 

14 


210  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

long,  but  when  be  awoke  it  was  sunset;  the  lustreless 
eyes  slowly  opened,  and  beheld  a  flood  of  golden  light 
streaming  through  the  tree  tops,  gilding  and  tinting  the 
foliage  with  royal  beauty,  while  the  cairn  sunset  hour  was 
musical  with  sweet  warblings  of  merry  songsters,  that 
flitted  among  the  branches.  Beautiful! — beautiful!  he 
thought,  as  he  struggled  for  an  instant  to  recall  the 
reason  of  his  presence  here,  and  half  doubting  that  he 
was  still  upon  the  earth.  The  dreamy  reverie  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  voice  of  Jim,  inquiring: 

''  How  do  you  feel,  Lieutenant?  " 

The  writer  was  cold  and  numb,  and  stiff  in  every 
joint.  Free  expectoration  of  blood.  The  place  where 
the  body  had  rested  was  marked  and  discolored  with 
dark,  clotted  blood-stains.  Jim  assisted  the  writer  to  a 
sitting  posture.  Sinking,  faint  sensation ;  gradual  full 
realization  of  the  facts.  Jim  had  gathered  some  sugar- 
corn  from  a  neighboring  field,  and  after  appropriating 
the  juice  of  four  stalks,  the  wounded  man  seemed  greatly 
revived,  and  the  sickening,  faint  sensation  ceased.  In 
his  weakness,  he  imagined  he  could  make  Atlanta,  over 
ten  miles  away,  without  difficulty ;  and  it  now  being  near 
twilight,  he  insisted  upon  starting  out  on  the  march  for 
the  railroad  northwestwardly.  He  had  proceeded  but 
a  few  yards,  when  he  was  compelled  to  realize  the  great 
change  of  an  hour ;  he  suddenly  fainted,  and  again 
drooped  unconscious  to  the  earth.  The  cool  water  soon 


OF   THE   WAR.  211 

revived  him,  and,  against  Jim's  friendly  protest,  he  again 
persisted  in  making  the  vain  attempt,  leaning  upon  the 
strong  arm  of  his  companion.  How  easy  it  would  be 
even  to  die  within  the  Federal  lines.  "Jim,  let  me 
spend  my  last  strength  in  the  effort  to  reach  there." 
44  But,  Lieutenant,  you're  so  sick  that  "  —  "Hist !  What 
sounds  are  those?"  Nearer  —  nearer.  We  silently 
crouch  behind  friendly  foliage,  while  on  a  by-road, 
hardly  fifteen  feet  away,  passes  a  squadron  of  Confed- 
erate cavalry.  We  distinctly  see  their  carbines  and  gray 
uniforms,  and  hear  their  clanking  sabre-scabbards.  Jim, 
at  first,  was  disposed  to  beat  a  rapid  retreat,  but  was 
silently  borne  to  the  ground  by  the  clinging  form  of  his 
wounded  companion.  The  excitement  created  by  this 
narrow  escape  served  in  still  another  way  to  convince 
the  writer  of  his  weakness  and  inability  to  reach  the 
Federal  lines.  At  this  moment  his  eye  rested  on  a  light 
streaming  from  a  residence  but  a  short  distance  down  the 
road.  "How  its  beams  seem  to  beckon  me!  "  There 
was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  by  the  writer  with, 
"Jim,  no  use  talking;  I  believe  I'm  mortally  wounded. 
But  if  I'm  mistaken,  Jim,  that  light  —  that  house  —  what- 
ever it  is  —  is  my  last  chance  for  life.  I  know  I  can't  live 
in  the  woods  through  this  night.  I  'know  it.  Take  me 
to  that  house." 

4 'But,  Lieutenant,  'spose  they  should  be  rebels?  " 


212  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"Never  mind,  Jim;  they  are  human  beings,  anyway. 
Take  me  there  —  take  me  there." 

"  But  'spose  they  should  tell  their  cavalry?  " 
"  'Spose  nothing,  Jim  ;  take  me  there,  or  I'll  go  alone." 
Leaning  on  Jim's  friendly   arm,   the  wounded  soldier 
was  supported  and  slowly  conducted  to  the  front  porch 
of  the  humble  residence ;  and  in  response  to  Jim's  gen- 
tle, timid  rap  at  the  front  door,  there  appeared  two  white 
ladies. 

They  speechlessly  gazed  inquiringly  at  us,  and  seemed 
horror-stricken  at  the  sight  of  the  pale  face  and  blood- 
besmeared  clothing  of  a  hatless  soldier  in  blue,  who 
opened  the  conversation  with,  "Ladies,  I  am  an  enemy, 
as  my  uniform  indicates  ;  but  I  am  very  badly  wounded, 
and  helpless."  Before  he  could  even  commence  to  ex- 
plain the  cause  of  his  presence  and  appearance,  one  of 
the  ladies  exclaimed,  u  Oh,  you  poor  soul!  you  are  wel- 
come, thrice  welcome,  to  our  house,  ivhoever  you  are ; 
come  in,  sir,  come  in."  The  wounded  "enemy,"  joy- 
fully surprised  at  such  an  exhibition  of  kindness  and 
sympathy,  gladly  staggered  toward  the  door,  when  one 
of  these  kind  ladies  remarked : 

"See!  the  poor  fellow  can  scarcely  stand;  let's  help 
him,  sister, — take  hold  that  side;"  and  the  two  ladies 
tenderly  assisted  Jim  in  supporting  the  fainting  soldier 
into  the  house,  and  cornfortabl}*  seating  him  before  a 
grand  old  fire  on  the  hearth. 


MRS.    II  AM  BRICK. 


OF   THE   WAR.  213 

Would  you  know  the  name  of  the  mistress  of  this 
humble  residence,  whose  nobility  of  soul  elevated  her 
above  sectional  feeling,  and  whose  large  heart's  generous 
impulses  could  not  be  halted  before  sectional  prejudices, 
and  whose  sympathy  for  human  suffering  could  neither 
be  measured  nor  restrained  by  the  color  of  a  uniform  ? 
Her  name  is  Mrs.  Carrie  E.  Hambrick,  a  widow  lady, 
who  had  fought  the  battles  of  life  bravely  and  single- 
handed  for  many  years,  and  whose  residence  at  present 
(May,  1880)  is  in  the  city  of  Atlanta,  Georgia.  The 
other  lady,  equally  noble- hearted,  was  her  sister,  who 
was  then  temporarily  sojourning  with  her. 

"Now,  tell  us  all  about  how  you  got  hurt,"  said  Mrs. 
Hambrick,  kneeling  beside  the  form  drooping  in  the 
easy-chair,  and  gazing  sympathetically  into  the  ghastly 
features,  her  sister  standing  beside  her;  "please  tell 
us  all  about  it."  With  considerable  difficulty  the  writer 
responded,  "Well,  ladies,  I'm  an  escaped  Union  pris- 
oner; was  recaptured  to-day  by  two  armed  men, — one  in 
our  uniform,  —  who  took  me  into  the  woods  over  there, 
and  gave  me  two  minutes  to  pray ;  I  ran,  and  they  fired 
at  me  three  or  four  times,  and  shot  me  through  once, 
as  you  see.  I  know  I'm  badly  wounded  —  perhaps  mor- 
tally ;  I  am  growing  weaker  every  moment,  and  can  only 
hope  to  die  in  peace  with  you."  The  countenances 
of  the  two  ladies  were  now  bathed  in  tears.  Suddenly 
Mrs.  Hambrick' s  face  was  buried  in  her  apron,  and  she 


214  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

sobbed  aloud ;  then  raising  her  noble  face  toward  Jim, 
she  inquired : 

"And  were  you  with  him  all  the  time?" 

"Yes  'urn,  — I  seed  de  whole  thing,  mum;"  She  then 
vehemently  exclaimed : 

"Oh,  the  villains!  Oh,  the  murderous,  cowardly  vil- 
lains! Shame,  shame  on  our  folks!  "  Then  turning  to 
her  sister,  she  said,  "  Sister,  we  heard  the  four  shots; 
remember,  I  remarked  it  at  the  time?"  The  sister 
replied  in  the  affirmative,  adding,  "Over  in  this  direc- 
tion" (pointing).  Jim  said,  "Yes,  'um,  dat's  de 
place,"  and  the  writer  nodded  assent.  "Well,"  said 
Mrs.  H.,  arising  and  tenderly  addressing  the  writer,  "  we 
must  take  off  your  coat,  dress  your  wound,  give  you 
some  warm  supper,  and  put  you  to  bed ;  we  can't  let  you 
die  with  us,  — you  must  live." 

11  How  softly  on  the  bruised  heart 

A  word  of  kindness  falls ; 
And  to  the  dry  and  parched  soul 
The  moistening  tear-drop  calls." 

The  blood-besmeared  coat  was  carefully  removed  and 
the  underclothing  cut,  exposing  to  view  a  ghastly,  gap- 
ing wound,  the  sight  of  which  brought  forth  fresh 
denunciations  of  the  "contemptible,  cowardly  scoun- 
drels," and  an  additional  flow  of  sympathetic  tears. 
The  soldier  looked  at  the  ugly,  bubbling  wound  through 
his  breast,  and,  in  spite  of  the  tender  encouragement  of 


OF    THE   WAR.  215 

the  ladies  to  the  contrary,  expressed  his  misgivings  as  to 
its  effect.  He  knew  that  it  was  a  bad  wound,  in  a  very 
dangerous  place. 

The  two  small  children  of  Mrs.  Hamhrick,  Isaac  and 
Tallulah,  — a  sweet  little  girl,  with  bright  eyes  and  sunny 
hair,  — stood  mutely  by,  gazing  at  the  strange  scene  with 
childish  simplicity,  apparently  horrified  witnesses  of  the 
bloody  work  being  performed  by  tender  hearts  and  will- 
ing hands. 

The  wound  was  tenderly  washed  and  dressed  ;  warm 
water  —  soft  cloths  —  sympathy  —  kind  words  and  careful 
hands  were  brought  into  requisition  for  the  purpose,  but 
the  "bathing"  afforded  by  the  tears  of  sympathetic 
.souls  seemed  far  more  potent  than  all  the  rest  to  lift  up 
the  drooping  spirits  of  the  soldier,  and  encourage  him  to 
live.  Then  came  warm  bread  and  butter  and  hot  cof- 
fee—  royal  luxuries.  Foodless  all  day,  and  the  expe- 
riences of  it,  had  made  the  wounded  stranger  absolutely 
ravenous;  hence  the  strange  luxuries  kindly  placed 
before  him  disappeared  almost  instantly.  The  good 
ladies  jocularly  alluded  to  the  "mysterious  disappear- 
ance" as  an  encouraging  sign  of  speedy  recovery,  and 
the  soldier  wonderfully  revived. 

"Now  tell  us  who  you  are,  and  where's  your  home," 
said  Mrs.  H.,  cheerfully.  The  soldier's  name,  rank,  and 
home  were  given ;  and  his  revival  brought  forth  copious 
tears  of  gratitude,  upon  attempting  to  express  his  obli- 


216  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

gallons  for  such  unexpected  kindness  and  sympathy. 
"Oh!  never  mind  that,"  said  Mrs.  Hambrick,  inter- 
rupting his  rather  awkward  effort;  "we  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  comfort  any  one  in  your  pitiable  condition." 
After  Jim  had  also  partaken  freely  of  the  luxurious 
"spread,"  the  writer  said  to  him,  "Now,  Jim,  you  shall 
have  a  chance  to  punish  yourself  for  falling  asleep.  I'm 
going  to  send  you  to  Atlanta.  Will  you  go  for  me?" 
Jim  promptly  replied,  "  Suttainly ;  ob  course  I'll  go." 
He  was  thereupon  instructed  how  to  be  guided  by  the 
compass ;  to  proceed  north-westwardly,  avoiding  roads, 
until  he  reached  the  railroad  east  of  Atlanta ;  then  to 
move  cautiously  westward  until  hailed  by  Federal  pickets. 
He  was  thoroughly  posted  as  to  the  extreme  danger 
of  trifling  with  or  hesitating  before  an  outpost;  and  the 
writer,  taking  pains  to  particularize  and  simplify,  ex- 
plained: "Now,  remember,  Jim,  when  the  picket  yells 
''Halt!'  you  stop  —  don't  move  an  inch;  he  will  then  ask, 
''Who  comes  there? '  then  3rou  speak  right  out  immediately, 
and  say,  ' A  friend  ivith  the  countersign;  '  then  he'll  say, 
'Advance,  friend,  with  the  countersign;  '  then  you  walk 
right  up  to  the  picket, — don't  be  afraid,  now, — and 
stand  before  his  bayonet  and  tell  him  your  story,  and 
hand  him  this  paper  this  lady  has  kindly  written  for  us ; 
now,  will  you  do  it,  Jim,  and  be  careful  about  it?" 
"  Suttain  to  do  it  —  suttain  !  "  (But  will  he?) 
"One  other  thing,  Jim:  if  you  see  the  pickets  are  not 


OF   THE   WAR.  217 

faced  this  way,  look  out!  they're  Confederates;  circle 
away  around  them,  as  we've  often  done  before." 

Mrs.  Hambrick  had  kindly  written  on  a  card  the  name, 
rank,  and  corps  of  the  writer,  together  with  her  name 
and  a  description  of  the  location  of  her  residence,  which 
she  now  handed  to  Jim,  who  received  his  final  caution, 
bade  us  "good-night,"  and  departed  through  the  dark- 
ness on  his  perilous  mission.  The  distance  to  Atlanta 
from  this  point  is  about  ten  and  a  half  miles  north- 
westward. 

The  good  ladies  then  prepared  the  grand  old  feather- 
bed which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  front-room,  and 
announced  that  it  was  ready  for  the  wounded  stranger 
to  occupy,  and  assisted  him  to  its  side.  "  White  sheets! 
who  ever  heard  of  white  sheets?"  The  stranger  vigor- 
ously protested  against  soiling  so  grand  a  luxury. 
"Don't  put  me  in  there;  my  wound  is  bleeding  }ret," 
he  urged,  as  he  called  attention  to  the  dark  blood  which 
slowly  oozed  from  the  ghastly  orifice,  and  rolled  in  thick 
drops  down  the  body,  "I'll  not  consent  to  soil  your 
bed." 

"Oh,  you  poor,  dear  soul!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  H.,  as 
she  forcibly  pressed  the  helpless  form  down  upon  the 
snowy  sheets,  "what  is  my  bed  compared  to  your  life 
and  comfort?  There!  lie  there,  and  not  another  word 
about  it !  "  There  was  unwilling  obedience,  but  in  a  few 
moments  soothing  relief  came  with  deep  slumber.  How 


218  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

long  the  patient  slept,  he  knows  not ;  but  when  he  awoke, 
during  the  still  hours  of  the  night,  his  eyes  opened  and 
beheld  the  motherly  features  of  Mrs.  Hambrick,  whose 
form  was  leaning  over  the  bedside,  and  whose  eyes  peered 
inquiringly  into  the  pale  features  of  the  stranger.  With 
low,  sweet  voice,  full  of  tender  sympathy,  she  inquired : 

"  How  do  you  feel  now,  Lieutenant?  " 

"  Better,  I  guess,  dear  lady,  —  slept  sweetly.  But  what 
are  you  doing  here,  —  why  not  retired  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  me.     Are  you  better,  think  you?  " 

"Yes,  I  feel  much  refreshed,  —  much  better.  I've 
been  dreaming  of  one  your  kindness  reminded  me  of, 
but  who's  gone,  and  I  thought  the  distance  between  us 
very  short.  But  you  need  rest ;  I  can  rest  as  well  without 
care,  so  please  go." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  continued  that  steady,  inquiring 
look  into  the  writer's  face,  as  she  slowly  moved  backward 
from  the  bedside.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  again  asleep. 
When  he  next  awoke  it  was  by  the  gentle  pressure  of  a 
warm  hand  upon  his  forehead,  and  he  slowly  opened  his 
eyes  to  look  into  the  same  anxious,  smiling  countenance. 
"What!  you  here  yet?"  he  faintly  asked.  "Never 
mind  me,"  said  she  ;  "do  you  want  anything?" 

"Nothing — nothing."  She  then  gently  leaned  over 
the  writer  and  earnestly  spoke  to  him  a  few  moments  of 
death  and  eternity  —  the  uncertainty  of  his  recovery. 
She  was  informed  by  the  latter  that  her  views  were  in 


OF    THE    WAR.  21t> 

accord  with  his  early  education  and  the  teachings  of 
his  mother,  and  that  in  the  midst  of  his  recent  trials- 
and  sufferings,  instead  of  dreading,  he  had  actually 
coveted  the  change ;  and  he  felt  even  more  grateful  as 
he  realized  he  was  in  the  hands  of  Christian  people. 
Again  exhausted  nature  slept.  Considerable  time — he 
knows  not  how  long  —  elapsed,  when  he  was  awakened  still 
again  by  the  suppressed  murmur  of  voices  beside  him ; 
the  speakers  were  not  aware  that  they  had  awakened  the 
subject  of  their  conversation.  Said  one,  "I  do  hope  he 
will  last  till  the  Federals  come."  "He  appears  to  enjoy 
rest;  I  guess  he'll  feel  stronger  in  the  morning,"  whis- 
pered the  other  "Well,"  said  the  first,  "we  must  do 
all  we  can."  The  ladies  retired,  and  the  writer  thought, 
"Those  tender-hearted  ladies  would  have  me  worse  than 
I  really  am."  He  soon  again  fell  asleep,  and  slept  until 
broad  daylight  of  — 

October  9.  —  It  seems  that  the  news  of  the  presence  of 
a  wounded  Federal  officer  had  quickly  spread  about  the 
neighborhood,  together  with  rumors  as  to  the  cowardly 
manner  in  which  the  wound  was  given,  for  very  early  in 
the  morning  a  number  of  ladies  in  the  neighborhood 
visited  Mrs.  Hambrick,  spoke  sympathizingly  to  the 
"  wounded  Federal,"  and  in  strong  language  denounced 
the  "cowardly  brutes"  who  could  thus  attempt  to  mur- 
<U-i-  the  captured  and  helpless.  Later,  Mrs.  Hambrick 


220  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

received  a  visit  from  a  Confederate  soldier,  a  Mr.  Burdit, 
who  rather  unceremoniously  and  officiously  entered  the 
chamber  with,  " Heigh-ho!  What  you  got  here,  eh? 
Heard  you  had  a  sick  Yank  over  here."  "No,  Mr.  Bur- 
dit, but  wounded, — in  a  cowardly  way,  too, — a  Ful- 
eral  officer,  and  he's  quite  low.  Please  be  more  quiet," 
obsequiously  urged  Mrs.  Hambrick.  "  Yaas,  I  know'd 
he  was  a  Yank  by  that  blue  coat  thar,"  said  he,  as  he  care- 
lessly inspected  that  bloody  garment.  Approaching  the 
bedside,  and  seemingly  peering  rather  impudently  into  the 
pale  features  of  the  wounded  "enemy,"  he  exclaimed,  as 
he  beheld  the  lustreless  eyes  fixed  upon  his  dreaded  but- 
ternut uniform,  creating  any  thing  but  pleasant  mem- 
ories : 

"  Well,  Yank,  — see  that?  "  (Holding  up  a  shattered, 
hand,  well  bandaged.)  "  I've  just  come  from  the  Wilder- 
ness, where  your  man  Grant  got  such  a  terrible  flogging !  " 

"Indeed?"  feebly  responded  the  wounded  man,  rather 
indifferently. 

"Maybe  you  don't  believe  me?" 

"Yes,  yes;  only  we  probably  differ  as  to  what  con- 
stitutes a  '  flogging. ' ' 

"Well,  we'll  both  agree  before  we  get  through  tiie 
fight  as  to  what  it  is,  — don't  you  reckon?" 

"  Oh,  possibly." 

64  We're  bound  to  whip  the  fight,  you  know,  —  no  mis- 
take about  that.  We're  bound  to  whip  the  fight !  —  Eh  ?  " 


OF   THE   WAR.  221 

"I  said  nothing,  sir.  I'm  in  no  condition  to  settle  it 
by  argument." 

"Well,  I'll  just  tell  you,  Yank,  —  "  Mrs.  Hambrick 
here  kindly  interposed  with,  — 

"Now,  Mr.  Burdit,  you  must  stop  this;  he's  in  no 
condition  to  argue  with  you,  and  you  shall  not  taunt  him 
in  my  house."  (Noble  woman!) 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  a  hurtin'  on  him,  am  I?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  he's  perfectly  helpless,  and  you  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

To  the  credit  of  "private  Burdit"  be  it  said,  he  then 
subsided  in  a  very  cheerful  and  gentlemanly  manner,  and 
was  learning  from  Mrs.  H.  the  circumstances  of  the 
wounding,  when  one  of  the  children  drove  him  uncere- 
moniously to  the  woods  by  charging  through  the  rear 
door  with  the  excited  exclamation,  "The  Federals  are 
coming!"  Glory  hallelujah  !  At  the  writer's  request  the 
front-door  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  shortly  after  a 
body  of  eight  or  ten  mounted  Federal  cavalrymen  rode 
slowly  by  the  house,  with  cocked  carbines  in  their  right 
hands,  hardly  looking  to  the  right  or  left,  but  gazing 
intently  down  the  road  ahead  of  them,  as  they  rode 
grandly  and  cautiously  forward.  "They're  going  by; 
they 're  going  by  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hambrick's  little  boy, 
Isaac.  "That's  the  advance  guard,  as  I  live,"  jo3'fully 
exclaimed  the  wounded  soldier,  with  a  desperate  effort  to 
raise  his  head  higher  upon  the  pillow.  With  breathless 


A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

anxiety  we  awaited  the  approach  of  the  main  force, 
which  shortly  after  appeared,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
strong,  escorting  an  ambulance  and  surgeon,  and  halted 
before  the  door.  How  the  command  "Halt!"  rang  out 
through  the  clear  morning  air.  The  next  moment,  a 
Federal  sergeant  leaped  through  the  door  to  the  bedside, 
with,  "Ah!  Lieutenant,  we've  come  for  you!"  and 
almost  immediately  the  room  was  filled  with  officers  and 
soldiers  of  the  command,  faithful  Jim  in  the  midst  of 
them.  Veritable  blue-coats  at  last;  reaching  our  lines 
assured  now;  visions  of  home  and  friends  The 
rescued  soldier  was  so  completely  overcome  with  un- 
bounded joy,  that  for  some  moments  he  was  absolutely 
speechless;  hot  tears  coursing  down  the  pallid  cheeks 
were  the  only  evidences  of  inexpressible  gratitude  within. 

"  After  long  agony, 
Rapture  of  bliss!" 

Many  moments  of  rare  pleasure  has  the  writer  experi- 
enced during  a  life  extending  through  thirty-eight  years, 
embracing  many  of  its  charms  and  blessings,  but  to  this 
particular  moment,  when  the  cheerful  blue-coats  swarmed 
into  his  presence,  dispelling  the  gloomy  clouds  of  dread 
suspense  which  surrounded  him,  and  banishing  fears  and 
brightening  hopes,  does  he  accord  the  no  small  honor  of 
affording  him  the  most  complete  satisfaction  and  unalloyed 
joy  of  any  moment  in  his  life.  This  force  was  of  the 
New  York  cavalry  command  of  Gen.  Garrard,  and  com- 


OF    THE    WAR.  223 

manded  by  a  captain,  a  noble  officer,  whose  name  the 
writer  greatly  regrets  he  forgot,  and  who,  with  the  sur- 
geon, approached  the  bedside  and  carefully  examined  the 
ugly  wound  through  the  breast.  "It's  a  very  bad 
wound,"  said  the  surgeon;  and  inquired,  "Did  you  spit 
blood  ?  ' '  The  writer  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  the 
surgeon  nodded,  and  whispered  significantly  to  the 
captain. 

The  writer  was  now  assisted  by  numerous  willing  hands 
to  partially  dress,  and  was  bundled  up  comfortably  by 
the  ladies  for  the  rugged  voyage,  and  numerous  strong 
arms  of  the  "boys  in  blue"  gladly  bore  his  weakened 
form  to  the  comfortable  ambulance  awaiting  him  at  the 
gate.  Here  the  ladies,  who  had  followed  with  encourag- 
ing words  and  small  articles  of  comfort,  again  burst  into 
tears.  The  wounded  but  happy  soldier  recited  as  best 
he  could  the  many  acts  of  kindness  and  sacrifices  of 
these  noble  ladies,  and  was  overjoyed  as  he  listened  to 
the  glowing  compliments  and  warm  thanks  tendered  to 
them,  over  and  over  again,  by  our  gallant  officers  and 
soldiers.  At  parting,  the  captain  commanding  grew  elo- 
quent in  a  short,  touching  speech,  promising  remembrance, 
and  warmly  tendering  the  thanks  of  himself  and  com- 
mand "  for  your  great  kindness,  ladies,  and  sacrifices 
made  for  an  unfortunate  one  of  our  number."  Jim,  now 
completely  forgiven,  was  placed  in  the  ambulance  to  sup- 
port his  wounded  companion.  The  ladies  each  stepped 


224  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

upon  the  rear  step  of  the  ambulance,  and  implanted  fare- 
well kisses  upon  bloodless  lips,  enjoining  earnestly, 
"  Now,  write  to  us  if  you  ever  get  well."  They  were 
assured  by  a  feeble  voice  the  great  pleasure  such  an  op- 
portunity would  afford.  The  final  "good-day,  ladies," 
was  numerously  spoken  ;  there  was  a  general  polite  lifting 
of  blue  caps,  and  the  column  slowly  moved  toward  the 
long-coveted  Federal  lines. 

Supported  by  the  strong  arms  of  Jim,  the  rescued 
soldier  leaned  outward  to  obtain  a  last,  lingering  look  at 
the  receding  forms  of  two  of  the  noblest  of  women,  and 
painfully  realized  his  utter  inability  to  fully  appreciate 
their  nobility  of  soul,  and  the  deep,  warm  sympathy  for 
a  suffering  "enemy"  whom  a  cowardly,  hostile  bullet 
had  suddenly  pressed  to  the  very  verge  of  eternity ;  and 
without  their  tender  care  to  comfort  him,  and  their  kind, 
cheering  words  of  hope,  tenderly  urged  in  upon  the  soul 
that  had  well-nigh  taken  its  flight,  the  dim  flame  would 
have  long  since  been  extinguished,  and  this  volume  would 
not  be  written  to  record  the  evidences  of  their  nobility, 
outranking  all  titles  bestowed  by  human  hands ! 

There  were  now  brought  to  the  rear  of  the  ambulance, 
for  the  writer's  inspection,  three  Confederate  pickets  who 
had  been  captured  en  route.  One  of  the  captors  asked, 
"  Do  these  look  like  those  fellows,  Lieutenant,  — anything 
like  'em  at  all?"  The  writer  looked  steadily  at  the  trio 
of  captives  in  Confederate  uniforms,  and  how  imploringly 


OF   THE   WAR.  225 

did  they  look  at  him !  With  breathless  anxiety,  and 
meek  and  humble  countenances  did  they  await  his 
response,  and  seemed  to  breathe  freer  as  he  slowly 
shook  his  head  with,  "No,  none  of  these.  Where  were 
these  taken?  " 

"We  were  on  picket  duty,  sir,"  quickly  and  timidly 
responded  one  of  them. 

"They  disputed  our  passage  to  you,  and  we  run  'em 
down  and  gobbled  'em,"  said  one  of  our  boys. 

"They're  soldiers,  taken  in  the  line  of  duty,  and  ought 
not  to  be  harmed.  I  don't  want  them  harmed  on  my 
account,"  earnestly  responded  the  writer,  and  the  poor 
fellows  looked  up  gratefully  into  the  ambulance. 

"Well,  it's  ad  —  d  lucky  thing  for  you  fellows  that 
you  don't  look  like  the  d  —  d  cowardly  scoundrels!" 
said  one  of  the  boys  in  blue  to  the  relieved  captives. 
"  There's  too  much  of  this  thing  going  on,  and  only  one 
in  a  thousand  gets  away  to  tell  of  it." 

"And  it's  about  time  there  was  some  mustering  out 
done  on  the  other  side,"  added  another. 

"  Yes,  and  the  sooner  we  commence  at  it  the  better," 
chimed  in  another,  with  a  suspicious  side-glance  at  the 
timid  captives  marching  through  the  dust  behind  the 
ambulance,  who  seemed  well  aware  that  the  threatening 
remarks  were  intended  for  their  ears. 

The  writer  peered  inquiringly  at  one  of  the  sergeants, 
who  participated  in  the  conversation,  who,  in  response, 

15 


226  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

brought  his  horse  up  near  the  ambulance,  only  to  hear 
repeated,  — 

"I  don't  want  these  prisoners  harmed  on  my  account, 
sergeant. ' ' 

" That's  all  right,"  replied  he;  "  the  boys  're  just 
scaring  'em  a  little,  that's  all ;  it'll  do  'em  good." 

We  had  proceeded  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Mrs. 
Hambrick's,  when,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  a  solitary 
shot  was  fired  at  our  column  from  the  edge  of  the  tim- 
ber, about  three  hundred  yards  from  the  road,  and  a 
single  bullet  passed  over  it  with  the  old  familiar  hissing 
sound.  "  Bushwhackers !  "  shouted  several  of  our  boys  at 
once.  The  fence  beside  the  road  was  razed  in  a  twinkle, 
and  a  half  dozen  blue-coats  dashed  across  the  open  inter- 
vening field  in  the  direction  of  the  lingering  smoke  of 
the  rifle. 

The  column  halted  for  the  result.  The  chase  was  a 
short,  fruitless  one,  and  when  the  pursuers  returned,  the 
captain  rode  to  the  ambulance  and  inquired,  — 

"Lieutenant,  how  were  your  friends  dressed?" 

After  being  informed,  he  continued:  u  These  fellows 
answered  that  description,  — one  in  butternut  and  one  in 
blue ;  we  got  a  sight  of  'em,  but  the  scoundrels  ran  into 
a  swamp  and  escaped  us ;  wish  we'd  caught  'em  for 
you."  This  supposition  corresponds  with  the  informa- 
tion afterwards  acquired,  to  the  effect  that  the  next 
morning  after  the  shooting,  Fowler,  with  Singleton,  was 


OF   THE   WAR.  227 

trailing  the  writer  with  hounds ;  that  his  name  had  unwit- 
tingly been  mentioned  in  the  presence  of  the  writer,  and, 
fearing  disagreeable  consequences,  he  had  "  determined 
to  finish  his  intended  victim,  at  any  risk."  (You  didn't 
get  up  quite  early  enough,  "  brother  "  Fowler.) 

A  word  or  two  more  to  these  chivalrous  gentlemen :  — 
Let  me  state  to  you,  brother  Fowler,  brother  Single- 
ton, that,  had  you  been  caught  on  that  occasion,  you 
may  safely  "reckon"  that  neither  of  you  would  have 
experienced  the  delight  of  perusing  in  this  volume  the 
eulogistic  references  made  by  the  facts  to  your  prowess, 
chivalry,  manhood,  and  —  marksmanship. 

Our  little  column  passed  through  Decatur,  and  another 
little  jaunt  of  six  miles  brought  us  to  Atlanta.  Atlanta! 
that  •"  Hood  had  made  up  his  mind  to  hold  at  all  haz- 
ards." Atlanta!  that  "the  Yankees  can  never  take, 
sir."  Atlanta!  before  whose  gates  the  rescued  soldier, 
while  concealed  in  distant  Southern  forests,  had  so  often 
heard  the  thunder  of  Federal  cannon.  Atlanta!  at  peace 
beneath  the  flag  of  the  stripes  and  stars.  As  we  neared. 
the  fortifications,  the  escorted  ambulance  passed  the  bat- 
tle-field of  July  22d,  and  over  the  very  road  beside  which 
its  wounded  occupant  was  captured,  which  spot  was 
immediately  identified  with  much  interest ;  but  the  grand 
feast  to  his  bedim med  vision  was  the  sight  of  the  old 
Jlag.  How  majestically  it  floated  where  before  he  had 
seen  only  "stars  and  bars."  Never  before  did  the  flag 


A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

of  the  Union  appear  so  bright  and  glorious ;  never  was  he 
prouder  of  the  uniform  he  wore ;  never  so  desirous  of 
witnessing  a  vigorous  prosecution  of  the  war  for  the 
Union ;  never  before  so  appreciative  —  so  delighted  — 
so  comfortable  —  so  safe  —  so  satisfied  under  the  glorious 
old  stars  and  stripes. 

"  Then  up  with  our  banner  bright, 

Sprinkled  with  starry  light, 
Spread  the  fair  emblem  from  mountain  to  shore, 

And  through  the  sounding  sky, 

Loud  let  the  Nation  cry, 
Union  and  Liberty,  one  evermore  !  " 

Failure  to  readily  find  the  hospital  of  the  Fifteenth 
Army  Corps  resulted  in  the  wounded  soldier's  reception 
into  the  general  hospital  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumber- 
land. The  news  of  his  misfortune  and  rescue  soon 
spread  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  and  he  at  once  became 
an  unenvied  object  of  curiosity.  Soldiers  and  citizens 
and  hospital  attaches  assembled  in  and  about  the  large 
hospital- tent,  gazing  curiously  at  the  annoyed  and  suffer- 
ing new-comer,  and  eagerly  soliciting  information  con- 
cerning his  experiences ;  visitors,  nurses,  and  surgeons 
asked  innumerable  questions,  wise  and  otherwise,  which 
greatly  annoyed  the  unfortunate  fortunate,  who  was 
wearied  after  the  long  ride,  and  of  all  things  most  desired 
rest.  The  surgeon-in-chief  soon  entered,  and  elbowed  his 
way  to  the  side  of  the  tortured  new  patient ;  asked  a  few 
hurried  questions ;  looked  seriously  at  the  gaping  wound, 


OF    THE    WAR.  229 

from  which  the  dark,  thick  blood  again  began  to  slowly 
ooze ;  learned  of  the  long,  tedious  ride ;  recognized  the 
meaning  of  the  woe-begone  appearance  of  his  new  patient, 
and  immediately  ordered  the  curious  crowd  from  the  tent, 
and  instructed  the  kind  soldier-nurse  to  permit  no  person 
whatever  to  converse  with  the  object  of  their  curiosity. 
The  writer  of  course  felt  greatly  relieved,  and  was  just 
relapsing  into  sweet  slumber,  when  he  was  disturbed  by 
the  appearance  of  three  or  four  surgeons  with  the  nurse, 
who  announced  to  his  unwilling  ears  that  they  had  come 
to  take  a  diagnosis  of  the  wound,  and  to  see  it  properly 
attended  to  and  dressed.  The  ordeal,  though  very  pain- 
ful, was  cheerfully  endured,  and  the  delicate  duties  of 
the  surgeons  tenderly  performed,  during  which  the  remarks 
were  made:  "Just  missed  the  subclavian  artery,"  one 
kindly  said  to  the  patient,  smilingly;  "an  eighth  of  an 
inch  higher,  my  boy,  would  have  settled  it."  Another 
said,  "The  ball  passed  just  below  where  the  subclavian 
and  axillary  arteries  join."  All  seemed  to  concur  in  such 
declarations  as,  "  mighty  narrow  escape  ;  "  "  close  call ;" 
"ugly  wound,"  "bad  place;"  "the  d — d  cowardly 
villains;"  etc.,  etc.  The  kind  torturers,  occasionally, 
tenderly  made  inquiries  of  the  patient,  in  response  to 
which  he  informed  them  that  during  the  evening  of  the 
shooting,  and  while  at  the  house  of  the  noble  lady,  when 
he  drew  breath  the  wound  bubbled,  and  he  frequently 
spat  blood.  All  concurred  that  the  ball  had  penetrated 


230  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

the  upper  lobe  of  the  right  lung.  The  surgeons  stood 
aside,  indulging  in  private  conference  concerning  the 
"new  case;"  after  which  the  surgeon  in  charge  of  the 
hospital-tent  alone  returned,  gave  the  nurse  instructions 
concerning  treatment,  diet,  etc.,  and  passed  on  his  rounds 
to  the  bedsides  of  other  unfortunates.  In  the  excitement 
and  confusion  attending  the  too  warm  "reception  "  at  the 
hospital,  Jim  became  separated  from  the  writer,  and  in 
obedience  to  the  surgeon's  orders  was  probably  included 
in  the  ejected  crowd  of  curious  spectators,  and  the  most 
strenuous  efforts  to  ascertain  his  whereabouts  failed ;  nor 
has  the  writer  seen  or  heard  of  him  since,  excepting  the 
indirect  information  that  he  remained  with  Garrard's 
cavalry  in  the  capacity  of  a  servant.  Should  this  volume 
and  the  writer's  location  ever  come  to  his  knowledge,  be- 
3Tond  a  doubt  he  will  bear  willing  testimon}?1  as  to  the 
scenes  and  incidents  occurring  in  the  woods  as  herein 
related  ;  and  he  may  accept  this  as  a  certificate  of  full  and 
complete  pardon  for  falling  asleep  while  on  "  guard 
duty,"  and  always  be  assured  that  his  old  companion  of 
S3^1van  retreats  will  at  an}'  time  be  more  than  rejoiced  to 
cordially  greet  and  welcome  him.  Despite  the  precious 
privilege  of  communicating  with  home  and  friends,  after 
two  and  a  half  months  of  unaccounted-for  absence,  and 
the  tenderest  possible  care,  and  the  glorious  consolation 
of  being  safe  among  friends  and  beneath  the  protecting 
folds  of  our  flag  of  the  stripes*  and  stars,  and  happy,  — 


OF    THE   WAR.  231 

despite  all  these,  the  exciting  incidents  of  the  recent  past, 
and  the  great  loss  of  blood,  produced  their  evil  effects. 
The  patient  rapidly  sank,  and  for  two  days  remained  in  a 
state  of  half -consciousness,  the  spirit  seeming  to  linger 
hesitatingly  upon  that  indistinct  border  where  faint  life 
gradually  fades  into  —  dissolution. 

As  soon  as  possible,  the  writer  was  removed  from  the 
tent  to  more  comfortable  quarters,  within  a  residence 
which  had  been  appropriated  for  hospital  purposes,  and 
where  he  had  been  "booked"  for  removal  and  classed 
among  the  "  severe  cases."  This  was  on  — 

October  12. — Thence  followed  more  than  a  week  of 
careful,  tender  care,  and  feverish  tossings  of  the  bed- 
ridden patient,  except  when  forced  under  the  quiet  and 
dreamy  influence  of  —  morphine.  Letters  were  dictated, 
and  communications  attempted  with  friends  in  the  far 
North.  The  only  exercise  permitted  was  that  necessi- 
tated by  the  morning  and  evening  dressing  of  the  pain- 
ful wound ;  'twas  not  the  wound  that  pained  so  much, 
but  dreadful,  constant  pains  seemed  to  shoot  spasmodi- 
cally the  entire  length  of  the  right  arm,  and  to  linger 
continually  in  the  shoulder,  elbow,  and  joints  of  the  wrist 
and  hand.  Almost  daily  was  the  patient  compelled  to 
submit  to  the  delightful  process  of  burning  off  proud 
flesh  with  caustic  from  the  surroundings  of  the  wound, 
and  experience  the  so.othing  sensation  produced  by 


A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

streams  of  tepid  water  forced  entirely  through  the  body, 
to  keep  the  wound  "  sweet"  and  "healthy." 

Upon  earnest  inquiry,  the  patient  was  informed  that 
his  division,  and  the  whole  Fifteenth  Corps,  was  back 
between  Atlanta  and  Chattanooga  looking  after  the  rebs, 
who  had  all  gone  north  in  the  endeavor  to  flank  Sherman 
out  of  Atlanta ;  which  the  boys  all  seemed  to  consider  a 
4 'good  joke."  We  occasionally  heard  of  the  battles  in 
the  rear;  and  the  writer,  being  the  only  member  of  the 
Fifteenth  Corps  in  the  room,  took  great  pride  in  listening 
to,  and  exulting  over,  the  reports  of  the  gallant  conduct 
of  detachments  of  his  old  corps  in  contact  with  superior 
numbers  of  the  enemy.  Prominent  among  these  events 
was  the  attempt  of  Maj.  Gen.  French,  C.  S.  A.,  on  Octo- 
ber 5,  to  carry  by  storm  our  works  at  Altoona,  Georgia, 
and  who  sent  to  Brig.  Gen.  Corse,  commanding  that 
post,  the  startling  announcement  that  he  was  "entirely 
surrounded,"  and  demanding  immediate  and  "uncondi- 
tional surrender,"  allowing  five  minutes  to  decide,  "to 
avoid  the  needless  effusion  of  blood,"  and  patronizingly 
promising  "  most  honorable  treatment  as  prisoners  of 
war." 

The  worthy  and  gallant  representative  of  the  old  corps 
immediately  replied,  spurning  the  demand,  "We  are  pre- 
pared for  the  needless  effusion  of  blood,  whenever  it  is 
agreeable  to  you."  Notwithstanding  the  furious,  bloody 
assault  from  surrounding  and  overwhelming  forces  which 


OF   THE   WAR.  233 

followed,  the  dauntless  commander  of  the  Fourth  Divi- 
sion and  his  plucky  soldiers  tenaciously  carried  out  the 
determination,  against  all  comers,  to  "  hold  the  fort." 

Of  Corse  they  did ;  and  yet  it  was  no  more  than  was 
expected  of  a  detachment  of  the  old  Fifteenth  Corps. 

Not  relishing  the  terrible,  bloody  repulse  resulting  from 
actual  encounter  with  such  stuff,  and  realizing  with  hor- 
ror "the  needless  effusion  of  blood  "  before  the  Federal 
works  at  Altoona,  Gen.  John  B.  Hood,  commanding  the 
entire  Confederate  army  about  Northern  Georgia,  on 
October  12  tested  another  small  detachment  of  this 
old  corps, — the  Second  Brigade  of  the  Third  Division, — 
placed  within  and  expected  to  hold  the  fortifications  at 
Resaca,  Georgia.  By  the  intimidation  or  buncombe  pro- 
cess, he  vainly  sought  to  force  to  surrender  a  comparative 
"handful"  of  the  same  "stuff"  which  the  bloody  sting 
inflicted  at  Altoona  admonished  him  not  to  assault.  The 
"general  commanding"  sent  the  peremptory  demand  to 
the  Union  colonel,  Clark  R.  Weaver,  with  the  startling 
announcement  that,  "if  the  place  is  carried  by  assault, 
no  prisoners  will  be  taken!"  While  rather  surprised  at 
such  a  message  from  the  "  commander-in-chief  "  of  over- 
whelming numbers,  he  promptly  responded:  "In  my 
opinion,  I  can  hold  this  post.  If  you  want  it,  come  and 
take  it!" 

The  test  seemed  to  satisfy  the  "  commanding  gen- 
eral" that  the  same  sort  of  indomitable  pluck  which  had 


234  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

cost  him  so  much  to  discover  at  Altoona,  would  be  also 
found,  unadulterated,  in  the  fearless  little  brigade  ex- 
pected to  defend  Resaca.  The  remaining  test  of  assault 
was  wisely  waived. 

Some  two  months  later,  Gen.  Sherman  selected  the 
Second  Division  of  the  same  old  corps,  upon  the  staff  of 
which  the  proud  writer  belonged,  to  assault  and  carry  by 
storm  the  importaiit  stronghold  and  final  * '  link  ' '  that  con- 
nected him  with  the  sea,  —  Fort  McAllister,  below  Savan- 
nah, Georgia,  —  which  was  grandly  done,  despite  planted 
torpedoes,  chevaux-de-frise,  artillery  and  musketry  fire, 
and  the  entire  garrison  killed  or  captured.  "To  secure 
this  important  remaining  'link,'"  Gen.  Sherman  stated, 
"I  trusted  entirely  to  this  division  of  infantry, — the 
Second  of  the  Fifteenth  Corps,  —  the  same  old  division 
that  I  had  commanded  at  Shiloh  and  Vicksburg,  and  in 
which  I  felt  a  special  pride  and  confidence." 

The  brother  sufferers  of  the  writer  in  the  double  room 
of  the  residence  hospital  deserve  passing  notice.  Among 
the  wounded  soldiers,  comparatively  insignificant  incidents 
were  greedily  seized  upon,  if  the  slightest  opportunity 
was  afforded  by  them  to  create  mirth  or  laughter,  and  all 
sorts  of  jests  and  stories  were  told  to  cheer  the  weary 
hours.  Personal  peculiarities  were  made  the  subject  of 
humorous  comments,  and  the  quaint  expressions  of  faith- 
ful soldier-nurses  furnished  ample  opportunity  to  test  the 
powers  of  mimicry.  Thus  through  the  lengthened  hours 


OF    THE   WAR.  235 

of  suffering  ran  a  silver  thread  of  merriment,  which  ren- 
dered even  painful  existence  agreeable,  and  the  quaint 
jokes,  fantastic  performances,  odd  innuendoes,  cant  ex- 
pressions, and  caustic  wit  sparkled  in  relief  of  the  dull 
drag  of  time,  and  provoked  begrudged  smiles  on  pallid 
countenances  in  spite  of  intense  suffering.  The  writer, 
then  unable  to  write,  cheerfully  accepted  the  proffered 
services  of  Capt.  Morse,  on  the  "  sick,  lame,  and  lazy" 
list,  who  kindly  volunteered  to  fill  out  the  writer's  diary, 
and  the  following  is  presented  as  the  record  of  the  unre- 
lenting critic :  — 

"October  12  to  23.  — Still  at  hospital,  Army  of  the 
Cumberland.  Inmates  of  our  room  are,  — 

Chaplain  C. — Incomprehensible;  decidedly  orthodox ; 
always  managing  to  save  from  dinner  enough  beef  for 
supper ;  is  sick,  be  it  remembered,  not  wounded ;  chief 
pet  of  the  nurses ;  when  awake,  is  generally  growling ; 
universally  beloved  (over  the  left). 

Lieut.  Seltzer.  —  No  relation  to  the  water  of  the  same 
name ;  awaiting  leave  of  absence.  Not  wounded,  but 
has  been  very  sick. 

Lieut.  Craven. — Recovering  rapidly  ;  very  accommo- 
dating, and  cheerfully  aiding  those  around  him  who  are 
less  able  to  aid  themselves  than  he.  A  friend  in  need 
and  indeed. 

Lieut.  S.,  Adjutant  Ohio  Infantry. — Wounded 

through  the  leg,  but  rapidly  recovering,  and  entertains 


236  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

great  fear  that  he  will  be  able  to  "  navigate  "  without  the 
aid  of  crutches  before  his  leave  of  absence  arrives ; 
wants  to  go  home  on  crutches  to  gain  more  sympathy. 
(Surmise.) 

Capt.  B.,  One  Hundred  and  Twenty -fourth  Ohio  In- 
fantry. —  Fatherly  and  kind  at  times,  but  his  bad  wound 
forces  the  fact  that  he  is  apt  to  be  a  little  excusably  surly 
at  all  times. 

Lieut.  K.  —  (We  dubbed  him  "  Shanks.")  Magnus 
ego !  Wounded ;  disabled  encyclopaedia !  Great  know- 
all,  —  know  nothing;  better  never  attempt  to  argue, 
especially  on  the  subject  of  religion ;  he  knows  it  all, 
every  bit.  Jack  enough  to  think  equal  numbers  of 
cavalry  far  superior  to  infantry !  What  an . 

Capt.  Ream,  Eighty-sixth  Indiana  Infantry. — Wounded 
at  Kenesaw  Mountain  through  the  hand  (minie-ball). 
The  very  life  and  joy  of  the  room ;  enjoyed  by  all ; 
jolly  and  cheerful  all  the  days ;  very  obliging  and  atten- 
tive to  those  who  "caught  it"  at  the  front  worse  than 
himself ;  has  taken  a  great  interest  in  the  owner  of  this 
diary,  and  waits  upon  him  and  reads  to  him  faithfully, 
as  well  as  keeps  him  cheerful  and  happy. 

Chaplain  Van  Valkenburg.  —  "  Sweet,  melodious  voice 
—  always  sent  for,  when  at  home,  to  sing  at  camp-rneet- 
ings."  Boasts  inordinately  of  his  home, — "splendid 
wife  and  family."  Extraordinarily  fond  of  fresh  milk, 
and  takes  great  comfort  in  frequently  announcing  that 


OF    THE   WAR.  237 

he's  "going  to  board  with  a  cow."  Good,  honest,  plain 
gentleman. 

Capt.  Paisley  and  Lieut.  Lord.  — Both  very  sick;  too 
ill  to  be  about  or  leave  their  cots,  and  too  weak  to  exhibit 
personal  peculiarities. 

Lieut.  Bailey,  of  the  Second  Division  Staff,  Fifteenth 
Corps.  —  Astray  in  our  u  Cumberland  "  hospital,  but  his 
corps  hospital  is  miles  away,  and  his  corps  is  rattling  old 
Hood  between  here  and  Chattanooga ;  takes  great  pride 
in  that  Fifteenth  Corps  —  ' '  old  corps  of  Grant  and  Sher- 
man ;"  Twentieth  Corps  nowhere  in  comparison;  has 
"been  very  low  indeed,  but  don't  know  it, — too  low  to 
make  much  noise,  or  to  laugh  loudly,  but  hugely  enjoys 
the  witticisms  and  jokes  perpetrated  by  those  around 
him ;  bears  an  ugly  wound,  —  narrow  escape ;  is  alone 
in  his  opinion  that  he  is  able  to  travel  to  St.  Louis.  We 
hope  he  will  be  strong  enough  in  a  few  weeks.  Last,  but 
not  least,  is  — 

G.,  of  the  Engineer  Corps.  — A  long,  lean,  cadaverous, 
glassy-eyed,  selfish,  avaricious  fellow,  caring  entirely  for 
self.  Not  wounded,  —  of  course  not ;  continually  growl- 
ing at  something  or  somebody,  and  actually  knowing 
more  than  all  the  others  combined  ;  always  uneasy,  —  never 
satisfied ;  not  sound  in  the  head ;  monopolizing  every 
thing,  owning  every  thing,  knowing  every  thing ;  never 
warm;  the  friend  of  "  niggers  "  generally  ;  nurses  never 
doing  any  thing  right ;  every  thing  goes  wrong ;  says  he's 


238  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

married  ;  must  be  perpetually  diseased,  and  a  very  unhandy 
thing  to  have  about  a  house  or  in  a  family,  and  makes 
his  wife  the  sympathized  being  of  all  who  know  her  hus- 
band. G.,  adieu. 

Capt.  Morse,  Twentieth  Connecticut  Infantry,  Twen- 
tieth Army  Corps.  —  Not  very  sick,  —  not  very  well ;  fond 
of  billiards  ;  not  fond  of  hospital  or  sickness  ;  a  free  and 
easy  kind  of  a  fellow,  bound  to  take  the  world  easy." 

But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  volunteer  whose  pen 
and  ideas  were  placed  at  the  service  of  the  disabled  patient 
admits  he  was  "  not  very  sick,  and  not  very  well,"  hence 
in  excellent  condition  to  be  sorely  annoyed  and  vexed  by 
the  "growling  and  grumbling"  of  those  in  much  worse 
condition  than  himself.  Men  who  are  bedridden  and  suf- 
fering hour  after  hour,  day  after  day,  are  not  ex- 
pected to  evince  the  most  amiable  dispositions ;  neither  is 
it  surprising  that  convalescence  should  create  exuberance 
of  spirits  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  friends  at  home, 
which  would  find  vent  in  frequent  "slopping  over"  in 
unguarded  references  to  anticipated  bliss. 

It  was  the  sixth  or  seventh  day  after  being  shot  that 
the  patient's  hope  was  clouded  by  the  kind  surgeon  in- 
forming him  seriously  of  the  great  danger  of  secondary 
hemorrhage.  After  considerately  and  delicately  prepar- 
ing the  way,  he  said:  "  We  lose  a  good  many  that  way, 
and  it  occurs  before  or  about  the  tenth  day.  I  have 
dreaded  all  along  to  tell  you,  but  I  consider  it  a  solemn 


OF    THE   WAR.  239 

duty,  now  the  time  approaches,  to  do  so,  and  to  further 
say  that  if  it  does  occur  in  your  case,  I  see  no  way  of 
saving  you."  The  desponding  patient  inquired,  — 

"  And  do  you  think  it  will  occur?  " 

"  I'm  very  much  afraid  of  it,  and  have  been  expecting 
it;  still,  there's  a  hope,  a  slight  hope,  but  I'm  sorry  I 
cannot  give  you  much  encouragement." 

The  patient  was  sad  and  pensive,  the  surgeon  continu- 
ing: "If  you've  any  matters  to  attend  ta  at  home,  I  ad- 
vise you  to  do  so  at  once  ;  for  if  it  does  occur,  you'll  have 
but  a  few  moments.  You  see,  from  the  nature  of  the 
wound  it  will  be  internal,  and  we  can't  control  it  or  reach 
it,  —  that's  the  trouble." 

The  patient's  drooping  spirits  were  not  revived  by  the 
surgeon's  faint  attempt  to  encourage  him  by  urging; 
u  There  is  a  chance  in  remaining  perfectly  quiet  until  the 
tenth  day  passes." 

The  surgeon  departed,  but  his  words  had  created  dark 
gloom  and  despondency  in  the  patient's  mind.  Bright 
hope  dispelled  by  a  cloud  of  gloom !  Silent  thoughts ; 
gloomy  forebodings ;  suspense ;  cheerfulness  fled ;  sleep 
almost  impossible. 

"A  grief  without  a  pang,  —  void,  dark,  and  drear, 
A  stifled,  drowsy,  unimpassioned  grief, 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet,  no  relief, 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear." 

The  ominous    "tenth  day"  approached,- — arrived, — 


240  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

and,  after  torturing  the  patient  with  the  agony  of  sus- 
pense, gradually  faded  away  like  its  predecessors ;  sweet 
hope  brightening  and  beaming  as  its  shadows  deepened 
into  the  night,  —  safe. 

"Not  yet,  my  boy,"  said  the  surgeon  with  sympa- 
thy beaming  in  his  countenance,  reflecting  the  brightening 
hope  in  the  pale  features  beside  him,  —  "  not  yet;  wait 
until  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  I'll  say  you're  out 
of  danger." 

Morning  came,  and  very  early  the  kind,  interested  sur- 
geon was  at  the  bedside,  with  warm  congratulations. 
Later,  congratulations  came  from  wounded  comrades  in 
the  room,  and  new  hope  brought  new  life  and  strength. 
Hood's  destruction  of  the  line  of  communication  with 
the  North,  which  prevented  the  approach  of  friends  to 
Atlanta,  did  not  deter  the  wounded,  who  were  able,  from 
being  safely  transferred  to  the  rear.  Notwithstanding 
the  wise  refusal  of  the  surgeon  of  the  Army  of  the  Cum- 
berland to  indorse  or  encourage  the  attempt  to  obtain 
leave  of  absence  by  daily  appearance  with  helpless  right 
arm  in  a  board  sling,  and  persistent  personal  application 
at  the  "Headquarters,  Army  of  the  Tennessee,"  in 
Atlanta,  the  patient  did  obtain  such  leave  in  the  latter 
part  of  October,  and  under  the  fatherly  care  of  Capt. 
Ream,  Eighty-sixth  Indiana  Infantry,  started  North  in 
a  baggage-car,  by  rail.  The  car  was  full  of  Union 


OF    THE   WAR.  241 

wounded;  those  who  "caught  it"  severely  being  at- 
tended by  those  who  "  caught  it "  slightly. 

There  was  a  break  of  only  four  miles  in  the  railroad, 
and  the  intense  desire  to  reach  home  and  the  comforts  of 
Civilization  was  sufficient  to  overrule  the  protest  of  the 
surgeon,  which  the  patient  vainly  attempted  to  treat  as  a 
jest  by  replying,  — 

"  Your  advice  would  be  good  for  the  Army  of  the  Cum- 
berland, doctor ;  but  folks  expect  more  of  the  Army  of 
the  Tennessee  boys."  "Well,"  said  the  good-natured 
surgeon,  smiling,  yet  talking  earnestly,  "remember  one 
thing,  Lieutenant:  I  don't  take  the  responsibility,  and  I 
hate  to  have  you  go."  As  the  train  of  baggage- 
cars  filled  with  wounded  slowly  moved  away,  he  said  to 
the  "slightly  wounded"  Capt.  Ream  concerning  his 
4 'severely  wounded"  protege,  "Take  good  care  of  him, 
Captain."  The  promise  was  cheerfully  given,  and  more 
than  faithfully  fulfilled.  The  inordinate  laughter  caused 
by  his  excellent  humor  and  flow  of  wit  precluded  the 
possibility  of  gloom,  and  tended,  for  the  time,  to  subdue 
pain  ;  and  even  if  ample  compensation  followed,  the  mirth 
was  worth  the  cost.  We  rested  overnight  at  the  southern 
end  of  the  break,  in  order  to  undertake  the  "  four  miles  " 
over  a  rough,  hilly  road  in  a  springless  lumber-box 
wagon,  starting  afresh  the  next  morning.  The  "head- 
quarters" of  the  wounded  "army"  were  on  the  planta- 
tion of  a  wealthy,  corpulent  old  planter,  whose  name  was 

16 


242  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

not  preserved  for  this  volume.  The  wounded  occupied 
all  the  spare  rooms  and  porches  of  the  buildings,  and  the 
proprietor  seemed  as  cheerful  and  jolly  as  any  of  the 
company.  During  the  sultry  Indian  summer  evening  an 
incident  occurred  which  will  serve  to  illustrate  how  slight 

O 

invitations  were  promptly  accepted  and  small  opportuni- 
ties eagerly  seized  upon  by  wounded  soldiers  homeward 
bound,  to  create  mirth  or  amusement.  Capt.  Ream, 
with  his  "choir"  (save  the  mark!),  stood  in  the  front 
yard,  and  rivalling  the  other  voices  of  the  night,  sang, 
melodiously  (?)  — 

"  Old  John  Brown,  he's  dead  and  gone ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  him  more. 
He  used  to  wear  an  old  gray  coat, 
All  buttoned  down  before." 

The  old  planter  proprietor  approached  and  patronizingly 
inquired  of  the  humorous  captain,  — 

"What  do  you  call  that?    My  stars,  gemmen,  that's 
a  right  purty  tune !  " 

"Did  you  never  hear  that  before,  sir?"  asked  Ream. 

"  No,  'pon  honah.     Ain't  thar  no  mo'  varses?  " 

"Yes,  lots  more  verses;  we'll  give  you  another  one." 

The  verse  was  repeated.     The  corpulent  old  gent  leaned 

upon  his  stout  cane,  his  head  slightly  turned  to  one  side, 

and  when  finished  he  said,  "Now  that  is  fine,  sir,  fine; 

better'n  t'other  varse."     "But  the  next   verse  is  still 

better  —  more  expression  in  it,"  said  Ream,  looking  se- 


OF   THE   WAR.  243 

dately  at  the  old  planter  and  casting  a  roguish  glance  at 
his  wounded  charge,  seated  near  by  and  enjoying  the 
"performance."  "Then,  sir,  by  all  that's  good,  let's 
have  it,  sir,"  said  the  old  planter. 

The  original  verse  was  again  repeated. 

The  apparently  half-suspecting  listener  bowed  his  head 
and  exclaimed,  — 

"Gemmen,  that  sounds  just  like  the  fust  varse  for  all 
the  world."  "No,  no,"  quickly  retorted  Ream;  "the 
music  is  the  same, — the  music  confuses  you  a  little, 
that's  all."  "Yes  'twas,  sir,"  persisted  the  corpulent 
gent.  "  Now,  you  just  sing  that  same  varse  over  agin,  an* 
see?" 

"Oh,  we  can't  repeat,  sir,"  replied  Ream;  "on  ac- 
count of  the  extreme  length  of  the  programme,  there  can 
be  no  repetition, — too  many  verses,  —  and  there's  the; 
chorus.  You  haven't  heard  the  chorus  yet,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,  I'd  like  it,  I  know,  — sing  that  ar." 

The  original  was  again  repeated. 

The  corpulent  old  planter  straightened  up,  with  a  broad, 
knowing  smile  upon  his  rugged  countenance,  brought  the 
end  of  his  cane  suddenly  down,  exclaiming,  "Storm  my 
buttons,  gemmen,  if  that  ain't  the  same  thing,  right  over 
and  over!"  and  he  hobbled  toward  his  porch,  laughing 
heartily,  and  informing  those  he  met  that  "them  fellers, 
sir,  are  singing  the  same  thing,  right  over  and  over,  as 
I'm  a  sinner;"  while  the  "choir"  and  "audience" 


244:  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

joined  in  peals  of  laughter  until  the  portly  form  had 
retreated  from  sight.  The  jaunt  over  the  four  miles  of 
break  was  a  terrible  ordeal  for  the  writer ;  thence  speedily 
to  Chattanooga  and  to  Nashville,  where  the  wisdom  of 
the  surgeon  at  Atlanta  was  demonstrated.  The  relapse 
came,  and  the  writer  was  ordered  and  taken  to  the  offi- 
cers' hospital,  while  his  comrades  proceeded  homeward. 
While  here,  he  received  many  kind  attentions  and  delica- 
cies at  the  hands  of  Mr.  H.  B.  Blood,  of  St.  Louis,  of 
the  Western  Sanitary  Commission. 

To  add,  if  possible,  to  the  danger  and  suffering, 
through  the  carelessness  of  somebody  a  serious  mistake 
was  made  in  administering  the  wrong  medicine.  Result : 
delirium,  which  continued,  under  repeated  doses,  during 
a  whole  night,  when  the  nurse,  alarmed  at  the  effects, 
summoned  the  surgeon,  whom  he  would  not  disturb  dur- 
ing the  night,  who  at  once  discovered  and  rectified  the 
mistake,  and  expressed  surprise  that  results  were  no 
worse.  The  writer  was  informed  that  during  the  night 
his  "audience" —  no  small  one  —  was  entertained  by 
various  military  commands:  orders  to  "charge,  —  lie 
down,  —  aim  low,  — load  and  fire  at  will,  — bring  up  that 
ammunition,  —  hurry  forward  that  battery,  —  shoot  the 
cowardly  guerillas  down,"  etc.  But  the  person  who  had 
unwittingly  furnished  this  rare  ''amusement"  was  only 
conscious,  in  the  morning,  of  utter  exhaustion,  and  of  the 
dreaded  fact  that  his  wound  had  recommenced  bleeding 


OF   THE   WAR.  245 

freely.  Over  a  week  he  lay  helpless,  when,  under  kind 
care  and  careful  treatment,  he  rallied,  and  on  the  eighth 
day  of  November  (one  month  after  the  dialogue  in  the 
woods)  he  was  again  speeding,  with  other  wounded  Fed- 
erals and  some  Confederates,  on  a  comfortable  hospital- 
car  between  Nashville  and  Louisville,  in  charge  of  a 
special  nurse,  homeward-bound. 

On  a  bloody  cot  beside  the  writer  lay  a  wounded  Con- 
federate, with  ghastly  countenance  and  lustreless  eyes, 
who  informed  his  Union  companion  that  his  leg  had  been 
amputated  "  close  up."  Beneath  the  cots  on  both  sides 
of  the  car,  soiled  uniforms  of  blue  and  gray  commingled 
in  peace,  and  the  proud  eagle  of  the  United  States  of 
America  condescends  to  affiliation  with  the  plain,  un- 
graceful pelican  of  Louisiana,  as  brass  buttons  and  equip- 
ments jingle  together  in  harmonious  contact. 

November  9.  —  One  month  after  the  entry  into  Atlanta, 

t 
the  writer  experienced  the  great  delight  of  reaching  his 

home  in  St.  Louis,  and  receiving  the  congratulations  and 
welcome  accorded  by  relatives  and  friends,  some  of  whom 
had  been  deterred  from  visiting  Nashville  by  daily  expec- 
tation of  the  present  event;  but  the  "  reception  "  proved 
too  much  for  exhausted  nature,  which  demanded  dear 
"compensation"  in  the  shape  of  a  second  dreaded  re- 
lapse. The  government  authorities  peremptorily  ordered 
the  patient  from  his  "  headquarters,"  indiscreetly  selected 


246  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

at  the  Lindell  Hotel,  to  the  quiet  retreat  of  the  officer's 
hospital  at  Jefferson  Barracks,  Missouri,  situated  on  a 
beautiful  site  on  the  west  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  twelve 
miles  below  the  city,  and  overlooking  the  ''Father  of 
Waters."  A  careful  diagnosis  of  the  wound  there  re- 
sulted in  the  physician's  opinion  that,  on  account  of  the 
fatigue  of  the  trip,  mistreatment  at  the  hospital  at  Nash- 
ville, excitement  upon  reaching  home,  and  the  enfeebled 
condition  of  the  patient,  it  would  probably  prove  fatal ;  and 
the  patient's  relatives  were  informed  by  the  "  surgeon-in- 
charge,"  Dr.  Allen,  that  he  saw  "  no  hope  of  his  ever 
returning  to  St.  Louis."  But  in  spite  of  evil  predictions, 
and  under  excellent  treatment,  aided  by  delicious  quiet 
and  forced  rest  under  the  soothing,  dreamy  influence  of 
morphine,  the  patient  gradually  grew  convalescent ;  but 
it  was  nearly  six  months  after  that  the  wound  ceased  to 
suppurate,  and  small  splinters  of  rib  and  scapula  ceased 
occasionally  to  be  forced  out.  In  the  early  spring  of 
1865  the  writer  was  able,  with  helpless  right  arm  laced  in 
a  board  sling,  to  visit  St.  Louis  and  other  places,  on  short 
trips  or  "leaves;"  and  on  one  of  these  occasions  the 
writer  was  handed  by  Missouri's  war  governor,  Thomas  C. 
Fletcher,  in  person,  a  mysterious  envelope,  with  the  cheer- 
ful remark,  — 

"It  gives  me  great  pleasure,  Captain,  to  present  you 
with  this,  upon  the  earnest  request  and  recommendation 
of  the  colonel  of  your  regiment." 


OF   THE   WAR.  247 

The  envelope  contained  a  commission  as  captain  of  the 
writer's  old  company  in  the  Sixth  Missouri  Infantry. 

The  formation  of  a  disagreeable  abscess  near  the  heal- 
ing wound;  the  inconvenience  and  annoyance  of  sub- 
mitting to  the  process  of  "  washing  and  dressing  "  twice 
each  day,  and  of  carrying  about  a  cumbersome  board 
sling  to  accommodate  an  almost  paralyzed  limb  for  half 
a  year ;  the  very  painful  gradual  exercises  necessary  to 
recover  partial  use  of  the  member  that  had  borne  the 
4 'brunt;  "  the  pains  and  aches  which  had  never  ceased 
to  predict  coming  storms  (costly  barometer!)  or  to  follow 
ordinary  use  ;  and  the  pain  now  produced  by  the  attempt 
to  complete  the  manuscript  for  this  volume,  will  consti- 
tute the  concluding  reference  to  the  list  of  dangers  and 
misfortunes  which  were  entailed  by  the  little  leaden  mes- 
senger which  sped  with  cruel  accuracy  from  the  rifle  in 
the  woods.  The  list  will  serve  to  amply  illustrate  what 
has  been  amply  demonstrated :  that  danger  to  life  does  not 
vanish  before  an  entry  on  the  muster-roll  of  the  hopeful 
word  "wounded." 

The  patient  retained  his  ' '  headquarters  ' '  at  this  hospi- 
tal, the  recipient  of  numerous  favors  and  delicacies  from 
relatives  and  friends,  until  after  the  surrender  of  Lee  and 
Johnston  ;  when  the  government,  in  recognition  of  the  fact 
that  it  would  no  longer  require  the  services,  in  any  event, 
of  its  disabled  soldiers,  granted  them,  and  among  them 
the  writer,  honorable  discharge  from  further  service. 


248  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

"Never  again  call  'comrade  ' 
To  the  men  who  were  comrades  for  years ; 
Never  to  hear  the  bugles, 
Thrilling,  sweet,  and  solemn ; 
Never  again  call  '  brother ' 
To  the  men  I  think  of  with  tears ; 
Never  again  to  ride  or  march 
In  the  dust  of  the  marching  column." 

The  day  when  we  received  the  last  report  that  Rich- 
mond was  taken,  an  incident  occurred  at  the  barracks 
worthy  of  mention.  Upon  receipt  of  the  "glorious 
news,"  the  dark  storm-clouds  which  had  hovered  over  the 
earth  began  to  clear  away,  and  as  they  were  rolled  to- 
gether and  pushed  by  the  western  breeze  away  in  the 
eastern  sky,  golden  sunlight  streamed  from  the  western 
horizon,  and  painted  in  bold  relief  against  the  massive 
bank  of  retreating  clouds  a  suggestive  bow  of  peace, 
with  a  brilliancy  and  clearness  seldom  witnessed.  It 
formed  a  complete  shining  arch  over  the  barracks  flag- 
pole, from  which  fluttered  the  "storm-flag"  of  the  garri- 
son, its  colors  washed  brighter  by  the  storm,  lit  up  with 
new  beauty  by  the  sunlight,  and  rendered  still  more 
glorious  in  contrast  with  the  gloom  beyond  it.  How  typi- 
cal of  the  situation!  War-clouds,  dark  and  dismal,  re- 
treating before  the  sunlight  of  peace!  The  old  flag 
straightens  in  the  breeze  as  if  conscious  of  its  triumph, 
and  descending  pearly  mist  furnishes  the  coup-de-grace 
to  a  scene  of  exquisite  beauty. 

"Honor  to  thee,  flag  of  the  free, 
Emblem  of  sweet  Liberty!  " 


OF   THE   WAR.  249 

With  the  restoration  of  peace  came  the  restoration  of 
communications  between  the  North  and  South.  The 
promise  of  October  8,  1864,  was  remembered  and 
eagerly  fulfilled.  A  note  was  directed  to  Mrs.  Ham- 
brick,  at  Decatur,  Georgia,  —  another,  —  another  which 
was  promptly  responded  to  by  Mrs.  H.,  and  a  long 
and  interesting  correspondence  followed.  Communica- 
tions were  also  promptly  established  between  the  writer 
and  the  Freemans,  and  indirectly  with  old  Aunt  Mary. 
Numerous  missives  and  photographs  fluttered  between 
the  delighted  correspondents,  all  in  care  of  "  Uncle 
Sam,"  and  the  writer's  Georgia  friends  seemed  over- 
joyed to  learn  of  his  escape,  and  that  he  was  still  alive. 
Mrs.  Hambrick  had  frequently  inquired  of  soldiers  of 
Garrard's  cavalry  as  to  the  condition  of  the  writer,  and 
had  been  considerably  confused  by  conflicting  reports. 
Her  sister,  she  wrote,  would  not  be  satisfied  that  he 
reached  Atlanta  alive,  until  the  receipt  of  his  first  letter 
from  St.  Louis.  So  incredulous  was  she,  that,  after  the 
Federals  had  left  Atlanta  on  the  "  march  to  the  sea,"  she 
drove  to  the  Federal  burying-ground  near  that  city,  and 
spent  the  day  in  diligent  search  for  the  name  of  the  writer, 
which  she  felt  confident  she  would  find  ornamenting  a 
crude  head-board. 

The  writer  has  ample  evidence  completely  identifying 
Fowler  and  Singleton.  He  knows  their  full  names, 
places  of  residence,  occupations,  and  standing,  and 


250  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

would  willingly  give  them  to  the  public  if  he  was 
not  bound  in  honor  to  withhold  the  information. 
The  writer  has  trustworthy  information  that  Singleton, 
being  pressed,  admitted  the  whole  affair,  implicated  Fowler, 
and  corroborated  the  statement  made  by  the  writer  to  Mrs. 
Hambrick;  that  he  pleaded,  apart,  with  Fowler,  during 
the  conference  in  the  woods,  to  spare  the  captive's  life, 
but  that  Fowler  was  unyielding,  and  determined  to  shoot 
the  captive,  "because  he  had  found  out  his  name,  and  if 
he  escaped  to  tell  it,  the  Yankees  would  kill  him  and  burn 
his  house!  "  Singleton  seemed  to  regard  the  affair  as  a 
good  joke:  that  they  "took  a  Yankee  and  a  'nigger' 
into  the  woods  to  kill  them,  and  let  'em  both  get  away." 
Singleton  also  admitted  that  he  wore  blue  clothing.  The 
writer  has  also  what  he  considers  ample  evidence  to  the 
effect  that  Fowler  was  frequently  interviewed  by  friends 
of  the  writer,  but  fear  restrained  confession  ;  that  Fowler 
protested  his  innocence,  but  threatened  that  "  if  any  man 
or  woman  brought  him  into  the  scrape,  he'd  make  'em 
smoke."  On  another  occasion,  he  threatened  that  "if 
any  man  or  woman  reported  him  to  a  Yankee,  he  would 
leave  friends  enough  behind  to  see  that  he  or  she  paid 
the  forfeit  of  their  lives  for  it."  On  another  occasion, 
he  announced  that  "whoever  reported  him  would  be 
punished  with  death."  Upon  being  confronted,  on  an- 
other occasion,  with  the  admission  of  Singleton  implica- 
ting him,  he  replied, — 


OF    THE   WAR.  251 

"Ah,  just  let  him  go  on ;  but  if  any  one  has  me  taken 
up,  and  troubled  about  it,  I  have  friends  left  behind,  here, 
that  will  wreak  vengeance  in  blood."  On  another  occa- 
sion, during  a  discussion  concerning  the  "affair,"  he 
was  asked  his  opinion  of  such  conduct,  and  "  he  declared 
he  thought  it  no  sin,  —  that  God  took  no  cognizance  of 
any  acts  done  in  time  of  war." 

To  add  insult  to  injury,  it  was  diligently  circulated  in 
Mrs.  Hambrick's  neighborhood,  and  that  lady  was  sol- 
emnly assured,  shortly  after  the  shooting,  that  the  Yankee 
officer  she  had  harbored  was  one  who  had  escaped  from 
Andersonville  prison-pen,  —  a  wild,  daring,  reckless  des- 
perado, a  heartless,  dissipated,  and  profane  villain,  who 
had  been  "prowling  about  within  the  Confederate  lines, 
committing  all  manner  of  depredations  too  horrible  to  re- 
peat ;  "  and  he  also  enjoyed  the  unenviable  reputation  of 
being  "  that  formidable  dare-devil  scout  in  Sherman's 
army,  widely  known  as  c  Devil  Jim'  "  (whoever  he  may 
be).  It  is  not  necessary  to  modestly  quote  the  glowing 
accounts  of  how  the  "patent  falsehoods"  were  promptly 
refuted,  nor  is  it  difficult  to  opine  whence  they  came.  It 
is  sufficient  that  the  infamous  falsehoods,  manifestly  ad- 
duced as  a  counter-irritant,  failed  of  their  object. 

"Fowler"  having  denied  participation  in  the  affair, 
the  writer  took  steps  to  satisfy  himself,  beyond  a  doubt, 
of  his  guilt  or  innocence.  It  is  not  deemed  necessary 
to  lengthen  the  details  of  this  undertaking,  nor  to  disclose 


252  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

either  the  friends  or  the  artist  who  were  instrumental  in 
executing  the  writer's  purpose ;  suffice  it  to  state,  that  in 
due  time  the  writer  became  possessed  of  an  excellent 
"picture,"  which  he  instantly  recognized  as  that  of  the 
person  who  recaptured  him  in  the  woods  and  who  told 
him  his  name  was  "Foster,"  but  whose  "comrade" 
unwittingly  addressed  as  "Fowler,"  and  from  which  the 
wood-cut  in  this  volume  was  obtained. 

In  1866,  the  "situation"  in  the  neighborhood  of  Mrs. 
Hambrick  was  such  that  she  was  solemnly  warned,  and 
felt  insecure  in  her  person  and  home  by  reason  of  her 
well-known  correspondence  with  the  object  of  her  kind 
care  and  solicitude  in  1864  ;  and  at  her  suggestion,  letters 
were  addressed  to  her  at  Atlanta.  It  was  also  deemed 
advisable  to  resort  to  a  ruse  to  insure  to  her  peace  of 
mind,  and  protection  from  secret  threats  or  possible 
injury  or  damage.  Accordingly,  a  letter  was  directed  to 
her  at  Decatur,  in  the  fine  handwriting  of  a  lady  friend, 
Miss  Susie  A.  Williams,  then  of  St.  Louis,  purporting  to 
be  from  the  "sister"  of  the  writer,  informing  her  of 
the  death  of  the  writer  from  the  effects  of  his  wound, 
and  thanking  her  for  her  great  kindness  to  him.  Another 
was  forwarded  by  Judge  James  K.  Knight,  also  then  of 
St.  Louis,  to  the  same  effect.  The  writer  was  then  a  law 
student  in  the  latter's  office.  These  "sad"  missives, 
bordered  with  deep  mourning  were  duly  exhibited  to  the 
"  proper  parties  "  and  to  their  "  suspected  friends,"  who 


OF    THE   WAR.  253 

seemed  more  at  ease  upon  receipt  of  the  "truly  sad" 
intelligence,  and  Mrs.  Hambrick's  misgivings  vanished 
upon  the  cessation  of  significant  inquiries,  coupled  with 
gratuitous  observations  and  taunts,  and  she  enjoyed  a 
long  season  of  a  feeling  of  perfect  security,  while  through 
the  Atlanta  post-office,  ten  and  a  half  miles  away,  there 
was  maintained  continually  an  interesting  correspond- 
ence with  the  "deceased,"  who  received  his  letters  from 
Atlanta  under  the  name  of  "  Jno.  Patton,  Esq."  This 
ruse  was  successfully  maintained  for  a  period  of  about 
fourteen  years,  and  the  paramount  desire  and  determina- 
tion not  to  endanger  the  personal  security,  welfare,  or 
peace  of  mind  of  Mrs.  Hambrick  on  any  account,  fur- 
nishes  ample  explanation  of  the  withholding  of  this 
volume  from  earlier  publication.  The  lady  now  resides 
in  Atlanta ;  the  reason  of  the  withholding  is  by  herself 
considered  no  longer  extant,  and  the  long-withheld 
"secret"  is  consequently  spread  broadcast.  Through 
the  perusal  of  this  volume,  undoubtedly,  will  the  "  inter- 
ested parties ' '  be  first  apprised  of  the  ' '  blissful  igno- 
rance "  with  which  they  have  been  blessed,  and  in  which 
they  have  slumbered  for  the  past  fourteen  years,  and 
for  which  they  ought  to  thank  Mrs.  Hambrick ;  but  the 
surprise  may  also  bring  relief  to  guilty  souls,  through 
the  consoling  influences  and  operation  of  the  Statute  of 
Limitations. 

In  1868,  the  writer  had  occasion  to  transact  legal  busi- 


254  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

ness  with  one  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen  and  the 
greatest  soldier  of  the  age,  Gen.  Grant,  who  was  then  at 
the  "Dent  residence"  on  the  old  Gravois  Road,  a  few 
miles  west  of  St.  Louis.  The  writer  was  cordially  wel- 
comed by  the  late  commander  of  the  old  army  to  which, 
he  had  belonged,  and  after  the  transaction  of  business^ 
the  General  said,  — 

"  So  you  were  in  the  old  Army  of  the  Tennessee. 
That  was  a  grand  army ;  I'm  always  glad  to  meet  a  sol- 
dier of  that  army.  By  the  way,  what  has  the  Convention 
done?"  (Referring  to  the  Democratic  Convention  of 
1868,  who  had  on  that  very  day  nominated  his  political 
opponent  for  the  presidency.) 

"  They  have  nominated  your  opponent,  General." 

"  Have  they?  "  said  he,  quickly.  "  I  haven't  heard  of 
it;  who  did  they  nominate?  " 

"  Will  you  guess,  General?  " 

"Well,  I  guess  Hendricks." 

"No." 

"Hancock?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  who  to  guess,  now." 

"Seymour." 

"What!  Seymour?     And  who  for  vice-president?" 

"Frank  Blair." 

The  hero  of  Appomattox  looked  out  upon  the  storm 
which  was  raging,  as  the  two  sat  upon  the  broad  porch, 


OF   THE   WAR.  255 

suddenly  bit  a  piece  from  the  end  of  his  cigar,  and  turn- 
ing squarely  toward  the  writer,  said :  — 

"  Well,  the  soldiers  will  not  vote  for  Seymour;  "  and 
gazing  thoughtfully  at  the  rain-drops  pattering  on  the 
outer  edge  of  the  porch  a  moment,  continued,  "Well, 
I'm  surprised  they've  nominated  Blair." 

Mrs.  Grant  now  appeared  from  within,  and  also  in- 
formed "  Mr.  Grant  "  of  the  nominations. 

The  storm  continued,  and  the  General  urged  the  writer 
to  stay  until  a  cessation  of  its  fury.  The  conversation 
turned  to  army  experiences,  and  finally  to  the  writer's  ad- 
venture with  Fowler  and  Singleton.  The  General  became 
much  interested  and  listened  attentively,  at  short  intervals 
interposing  sharply  the  single  word,  "  Villains !  "  At  the 
close,  the  General  asked,  — 

"  And  you  say  you  know  the  names  of  these  men,  and 
where  they  now  live?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  — found  it  all  out  since  the  war." 

"  Well,  now  you  know  all  about  these  fellows,  what  do 
you  propose  to  do? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  best;  but  I  am  certain  that  as 
long  as  Mrs.  Hambrick's  interest  requires  it,  nothing  will 
be  done  with  my  sanction." 

"That  is  a  very  sensible  conclusion,  however  much 
satisfaction  would  be  afforded  in  seeing  the  villains  pun- 
ished." 

The  weeks  and  months  glided  swiftly  by,  and  stronger 


256  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

and  stronger  grew  the  desire  to  revisit  the  friends  and 
scenes  of  hardship  and  danger  in  the  South.  Encouraged 
by  the  frequent,  earnest  pleadings  which  came  from  that 
direction,  the  desire  ripened  into  intention,  and  the  latter 
was  soon  after  reduced  to  certainty  as  to  time.  Without 
apprising  his  Southern  friends  of  his  intention  to  revisit 
them,  the  writer  perfected  his  arrangements  and  left  St. 
Louis,  southward  bound,  on  — 

February  17,  1870.— The  old  battle-fields  of  bloody 
Mission  Ridge,  Resaca,  and  Kenesaw  Mountain  were 
passed  successively ;  the  familiar  scenery  surrounding  each 
were  objects  of  great  interest  to  the  writer ;  and  in  due 
time  he  again  stood  in  the  improved  streets  of  recon- 
structed Atlanta.  Before  venturing  further,  the  writer 
called  upon  the  officer  commanding,  Gen."  Terry,  briefly 
related  his  former  experience  near  Decatur,  and  made 
known  the  purpose  of  his  present  visit. 

The  General  assured  him  that  there  was  not  the  slight- 
est danger  to  travellers  in  his  department,  and  of  the 
entire  safety  in  the  proposed  trip ;  but  it  was  arranged 
that  if  the  writer  did  not  report  within  a  few  days,  a 
squadron  of  cavalry  should  investigate  the  cause  of  ab- 
sence. A  jaunt  of  six  miles  by  rail  eastward,  and  he 
reached  Decatur.  En  route  he  passed  over  the  battle- 
field of  July  22,  1864;  recognized  remnants  of  earth- 
works, and  the  unguarded  railroad-cut  through  which  the 


OP   THE   WAR.  257 

Confederates  swarmed  and  gained  the  rear  of  the  Fed- 
eral lines  on  that  fearful  day.  As  the  train  emerged  from 
the  cut,  he  looked  back  to  the  very  spot  where  he  was 
captured,  while  on  the  other  side  of  the  railroad  was 
marked  the  spot  where  noble  McPherson  fell.  As  the 
visitor  alighted  at  the  Decatur  depot,  he  naturally  enough 
glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  recapture.  There  stood 
the  remnants  of  the  old  entrenchments  in  the  distance, 
and  further  to  the  right  still  stand  those  awful  woods. 
The  very  sight  of  them  causes  an  involuntary  shudder ; 
danger  seems  to  hover  in  the  very  atmosphere  about 
them.  The  hands  instinctively  rest  upon  concealed  as- 
surances of  ability  to  repulse  the  imaginary  enemy. 

"  Do  I  know  where  Mrs.  Hambrick  lives?"  repeated 
the  Decatur  postmaster,  and  looking  inquiringly  at  the 
writer.  "Well,  yaas ;  she  lives  about  four  mile  down 
that  road."  (Pointing.) 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  and  the  writer  departed  in  the  indi- 
cated direction.  The  informer  eyed  the  stranger  closely, 
and  bawled  out  after  him,  — 

"  They  say  she  tuck  care  of  a  sick  Yankee  durin'  war- 
time; be  you  him?  " 

(Thunder  and  lightning !     Is  it  possible  ?) 
Turning  partially  around,  the  stranger  responded :  — 
"I  know  about  it,  sir.     I   was  down   this   way,    and 
thought  I  would  deliver  a  message  to  her  from  the  gentle- 
man's friends,  and  try  and  return  to  Atlanta  to-night." 

17 


258  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

(I  thought  I  was  undoubtedly  dead  —  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. Village  —  everybody  knows  everything  about 
everybody.  How  could  that  old  cogger  suspect  me  of 
being  a  dead  man?  ) 

"  A  village  is  a  hive  of  glass, 
"Where  nothing  undescried  can  pass." 

After  a  rapid  march  over  the  road  he  last  travelled  in 
an  ambulance,  he  arrived  at  the  gate  before  the  humble 
residence  of  Mrs.  Hambrick.  At  the  gate  stood  her  boy 
Isaac,  then  about  eleven  years  of  age,  whom  the  visitor 
recognized  at  once. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Hambrick  live  here?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  politely  replied. 

The  writer  walked  in  the  gate,  —  in  the  door.  (There 
she  is!)  "Good  evening,"  spoke  both  together.  She 
eyed  the  visitor  suspiciously,  as  if  half  suspecting  who  he 
was. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Hambrick,  I  believe?  " 

She  nodded  in  the  affirmative. 

"I  was  requested  to  call  here,  madam,  by  a  Mr. 
Bailey,  of  St.  Louis,  and  thank  you  in  his  name  for 
your  many  acts  of  —  "  "Yes,  exactly,"  said  she,  inter- 
ruptingly,  "  and  do  you  know  that  I  believe  you  are  Mr. 
Bailey  himself.  You  can  never  conceal  that  voice  in  this 
world.  Oh!  how  do  you  do?  how  do  you  do?"  and 
without  further  ado  she  fell  upon  the  visitor,  and,  in  the 
enthusiasm  attending  the  undignified  reception,  upsetting 


OF   THE   WAR.  259 

chairs,  demolishing  wearing  apparel,  totally  demoralizing 
the  astounded  visitor;  and,  in  the  attempt  to  devour 
him,  actually  created  "confusion  worse  confounded" 
by  knocking  off  a  wig  the  visitor  wore,  in  a  vain  endeavor 
to  cultivate  a  luxurious  growth  of  hair. 

Well,  such  a  "wooling"  and  " hazing"  need  not  be 
envied  even  as  an  expression  of  affection.  The  "Con- 
federate" onslaught  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  and 
made  with  such  a  reckless  disregard  of  personal  comfort, 
that  the  "Federal"  force  was  completely  surprised, 
speedily  overpowered,  and  ignominiously  and  uncondi- 
tionally surrendered. 

The  successful  assault  over  and  the  wig  feature 
explained,  the  whole  family  mustered  and  cordially 
greeted,  and  comparative  calm  followed  the  storm  of 
congratulations  and  merriment.  The  "desultory  sput- 
tering" which  followed,  continuing  the  entire  evening 
until  near  midnight,  was  of  course  directed  to  the- 
scenes  and  incidents  of  '64.  Every  one  had  "lots"  to* 
say,  and  all  wanted  to  say  it  first.  For  more  than  a  mor- 
tal hour  Mrs.  Hambrick's  front-room  resembled  a  cage 
of  magpies.  John,  a  brother  of  the  hostess,  was  sent 
for,  and  promptly  reported.  The  writer  had  not  for- 
gotten his  kindness  in  placing  on  his  head,  while  bidding 
him  good-bye  in  '64,  his  best  hat.  After  persistent 
refusals,  he  finally  accepted  double  the  highest  estimated 
value  of  a  new  hat,  with  interest  more  than  compounded 


260  A    PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

from  October,  1864.  Then  John  was  happy,  and  taking 
down  his  violin,  in  a  manner  more  spirited  than  artistic, 
rattled  off  a  lively  but  rather  indefinite  tune,  which 
elicited  the  applause  of  the  company. 

"What's  that  called,  John?"  asked  the  writer. 

"That,"  replied  John,  straightening  up,  consider- 
ably flushed  with  his  effort  and  success  —  "  that's  called 
4  Hell  broke  loose  in  Georgia. '  ' 

The  visitor  now  undertook  what  afforded  him  rare 
pleasure,  —  the  distribution  of  mysterious  packages.  As 
they  were  opened  by  their  recipients,  Mrs.  Hambrick 
exclaimed,  — 

"  No,  sir,  —  no,  sir,  —  no  more  of  this,  sir ;  we  shall  not 
accept.  You  have  already  paid  us  over  and  over  again 
for  our  small  services;  take  this  back,  sir."  "We  did 
not  take  care  of  you  for  money ,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Ham- 
brick's  sister,  indignantly. 

The  writer  pleasantly  but  firmly  assured  them  that  to 
imagine  that  he  estimated  the  value  of  their  services  with 
money,  was  to  impugn  his  motives  to  such  an  extent  as 
would  make  their  refusal  to  accept  his  small  gifts  a  posi- 
tive insult.  Thereupon,  reluctant  acceptance  was  followed 
by  a  shower  of  thanks,  from  which  the  bestower  of  the 
humble  gifts  reaped  ten  times  their  value. 

The  next  day,  the  visitor  ventured  forth  to  find  his 
other  friends  in  Georgia,  promising  to  return.  There 
was  a  short  jnunt  by  rail  to  Covington  ;  en  route,  old 


OF   THE   WAR.  261 

Stone  Mountain  was  passed,  —  an  object  of  great  interest 
to  at  least  one  passenger  who  had  seen  it  before.  It 
looms  up  now  as  grandly  as  when  it  overlooked  contend- 
ing armies.  Now  we  pass  Lithonia,  Conyers,  —  both  of 
which  the  writer  had  visited  and  viewed  before,  b}^  star- 
light, —  and  arrive  at  C.  ;  thence  by  private  conveyance 
about  eight  miles,  to  the  plantation  near  Oak  Hill  to 
which  they  had  removed  and  upon  which  resided  the 
Freemans.  Shortly  after  dark  there  was  a  knocking  at 
the  door  of  the  humble  log-cabin  home,  followed  by  an 
invitation  to  "come."  The  driver  of  the  conve3rance 
and  the  writer  stepped  within.  All  the  driver  knew  was 
that  the  writer  was  seeking  "Freeman's"  as  a  suitable 
place  to  spend  the  night.  (There  sat  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Free- 
man.) A  cordial  "good-evening"  passed  all  around. 

The  writer,  profiting  by  the  experience  with  his  betray- 
ing voice  at  Mrs.  Hambrick's,  had  instructed  the  driver 
to  request  accommodations  for  the  stranger  for  the  night, 
which  he  did. 

"Certainly,  —  certainly,"  responded  Mr.  F. 

The  driver  warmed  himself  for  a  few  moments,  and 
returned  to  Covihgton.  He  had  hardly  closed  the  door, 
after  bidding  us  "good-night,"  before  Mr.  Freeman  said 
to  the  visitor,  "  I  reckon  I've  seen  you  before,  sir." 

"Possibly." 

Mrs.  Freeman  now  exclaimed:  "Oh,  that's  you, 
George!  I  knowed  you  the  minute  you  came  in."  Of 


262  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

course,  cordial  greetings  followed  ;  after  which  the  writer 
inquired  for  the  "girls." 

''Where  is  Siss  and  her  family?  " 

"They  live  about  a  mile  down  the  road,  and  will  be 
crazy  to  see  you." 

Inquiries  followed  as  to  Nancy,  who  was  also  married, 
and  living  a  few  miles  distant ;  and  Betsy?  — 

"Well, — Betsy;  poor  Betsy  is  dead  and  buried." 
The  writer  had  not  before  learned  of  that  recent  fact,  and 
every  countenance  was  sad.  After  supper,  "  Mig,"  who 
had  grown  from  a  small  boy  to  a  strapping  "  six-footer," 
accompanied  the  visitor  to  the  humble  log  cabin  of  young 
Mr.  Freeman  and  his  wife,  Siss.  A  plan  —  a  ruse  —  a 
knock  —  an  entry. 

"I  am  mending  clocks,"  said  the  visitor,  disguising 
his  voice  ;  "  have  you  any  to  mend?  " 

"No,  sir,"  responded  Mr.  F.  Siss  looked  at  the 
stranger  a  moment,  and  replied,  — 

"Yes,  sir;  an'  I  know  you, — I'll  never  forget  them 
eyes;  how  d'ye,  George?"  Mig  stepped  in,  in  time  to 
join  in  the  hearty  laugh  which  followed.  The  rather 
mystified  head  of  the  young  family,  young  Mr.  F.,  was 
then  introduced,  and  the  writer  said  to  him,  — 

"They  wouldn't  introduce  us,  sir,  when  we  slept  in 
the  same  house  in  '64,  when  we  were  in  our  uniforms." 

"No,  sir;  they  were  sheered.  If  they  had,  though,  I 
wouldn't  a'  gone  back  to  Andersonville  again,  I  tell  yer; 


OF    THE   WAR.  263 

I'd  gone  plumb  into  your  lines  with  you.     I  scolded  'em 
about  it  when  they  tol'  me  of  it  afterwards." 
"  What  was  your  duty  at  the  'pen,'  Jake?" 
"I  was  a  guardin'   Yankee  prisoners."     (Here's  an 
opportunity. ) 

4 '  How  were  our  boys  treated  down  there  ?  ' ' 
"  Oh  !  like  dogs,  —  worse  than  dogs." 
" I'm  glad  I  didn't  get  there,  —  bad  place,  eh?" 
u  You  may  thank  God  you  didn't,  sir." 
"  I  don't  like  that  dead-line  I've  heard  about." 
"  The  dead-line  was  a  mere  trap.     What  I  saw  there 
sickened  me,  sir.     Wh}',  the  feller  who  killed  a  Yankee  on 
the  dead-line  got  a  furlough  for  diligence,  — fact,  sir.    I've 
seen  some  of  our  boys  throw  crackers  and  things  just 
outside   the   dead-line,    and   then   shoot   the   first   poor, 
starved  cuss  who  reached  over  for  'em,  so  he  could  get  a 
furlough.     That  was  too  much  for  me,  sir;  I'd  rather  go 
without  my  furlough  ;  that  was  murder,  and  nothin'  else." 
"I'm  very  glad  I  concluded  not  to  '  visit '  there." 
u  Between    the   furloughs   and   the   bloodhounds,    the 
Yanks  didn't  have  much  show,  I  tell  yer." 

The  conversation  was  prolonged  away  into  the  night. 
The  attempt  to  return  to  old  Mr.  Freeman's  was  met  with 
a  decided  repulse ;  so,  after  we  had  almost  talked  our- 
selves to  sleep,  there  was  retirement  —  sleep  —  daylight. 
When  the  visitor  presented  himself  for  morning  saluta- 
tions, he  observed  three  bright  pledges  of  affection  gath- 


264  A  PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

ered  about  their  young  mother,  and  peering  shyly  at  the 
stranger.  It  was  not  difficult  to  discover  that  the  little 
ones  had  been  neatly  "fixed  up"  for  the  occasion,  as 
they  met  the  writer  with  bright  eyes  and  sunburnt  faces,  — 

"  Shy  as  the  antelope, 
Brown  as  a  berry." 

1  'This,"  said  the  young  mother,  illy  concealing  her 
pride,  and  pressing  toward  the  stranger  the  shrinking- 
form  of  the  eldest,  a  bright  four-year-old,  —  "this  is 
George  Bailey  Freeman."  The  writer's  namesake,  of 
course,  was  made  the  object  of  his  special  admiration. 
It  was  not  a  great  while  before  the  visitor  secured  the 
confidence  of  the  children,  and  romped  and  capered  with 
them  as  one  of  four. 

After  breakfast,  the  entire  family  escorted  the  visitor 
back  to  the  residence  of  the  old  folks,  where  a  very  pleasant 
reunion  was  held,  and  the  incidents  of  '64  again  recalled  ; 
after  which  each  of  the  family  were  presented  with  a  mys- 
terious package,  and  "  Georgie  "  received  an  extra  recog- 
nition, in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  attempt  to  per- 
petuate an  unworthy  name  and  memory.  It  afforded  the 
giver,  of  limited  means,  much  consolation  to  feel  that  even 
his  humble  gifts  were  fully  appreciated,  and  constituted 
much  to  afford  relief  and  secure  additional  comforts.  A 
trip  of  a  couple  of  miles,  to  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Nancy, 
including  all  of  the  company  who  were  able  to  go,  fol- 
lowed. Meeting  —  recognition  —  greeting  —  merriment. 


OF   THE   WAR.  265 

While  here,  a  group  of  neighborhood  lady  callers  entered  ; 
polite  introductions  followed. 

"A  Yankee  officer,  eh?"  repeated  one  of  them,  and  she 
entertained  the  company  by  relating  how  several  Yankee 
officers  stopped  at  her  house  about  the  time  when  Sher- 
man "  marched  to  the  sea,"  and  slept  on  her  front  porch 
"  until  near  mornin,'  when  our  folks  tuck  'em.  Ah  me !  " 
"Well,"  she  continued,  "it  makes  me  sick  to  think 
on't."  "  Why  so  ?"  inquired  the  writer.  "It's  a  common 
thing  to  capture  prisoners;  I  was  captured  myself." 
"Aye,  Lord ;  but  these  were  shot  and  kitted !"  "Indeed? 
Tell  us  all  about  it,  please."  "Well,  you  see,  'twas 
'bout  daylight.  There  were  six  on  'em  sleepin'  on  my 
front  porch,  and  a  company  of  our  folks  caught  'em,  and 
marched  the  hull  six  on  'em  off  back  o'  my  house,  in  the 
woods.  I  put  my  head  out  o'  my  upper  back  winder  to 
know  what  was  goin'  on.  I  heered  our  folks  tell  'em, 
4  Say  yer  prayers  ; '  and  sich  pitiful  pleadin'  I  never  did 
hear.  I  heered  'em  say,  'O  my  poor  wife!'  'O  my 
poor  mother !  '  and  sich,  and  they  did  beg  pitiful  fur  their 
lives.  Then  I  heered  some  low  prayers,  and  then,  —  bang ! 
bang!  bang!  a  few  times, — then  there  was  a  low  moan 
or  two,  and  all  was  still.  Our  folks  came  back  and 
marched  off  without  even  biddin'  us  good  mornin'." 

"Do  you  think  their  conduct  was  soldierly  or  honor- 
able ? ' '  inquired  the  visitor,  who  had  listened  throughout 
with  intense  interest. 


266  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

"  Honorable !  Why,  if  I  hadn't  been  undressed  I  should 
have  gone  out  there  an'  pleaded  for  their  lives  myself; 
but  I  knowed  it  wouldn't  a'  done  no  good,  nohow. 
Our  folks  were  all  strangers  to  me,  too.  Ah  me!  (with 
a  sigh)  we  had  often  heered,  afore  that,  shots  scatterin' 
like  —  five  or  six  in  a  bunch  —  off  in  the  timber,  and 
then  we  all  knew  what  they  meant!  "  "  What  became  of 
the  bodies  of  these  officers?  "  asked  the  writer.  "Waal, 
I  was  a  goin'  on  to  say,  they  were  just  barely  kivered 
with  leaves,  and  left  jus'  so,  until  they  were  half  eat 
up  by  the  hogs;  then  our  niggers  buried  'em." 

"How  far  from  here  did  this  happen,  madam?"  in- 
quired the  writer. 

"Why,  you  can  see  (stepping  to  the  door  and  point- 
ing), —  that's  my  house,  right  over  the  rise  thar ;  thar's 
the  porch,  —  you  can  see,  —  and  right  back  of  the  house, 
in  the  woods  thar,  is  their  graves." 

"And  you  don't  know  their  names  or  regiments?  " 

"No,  sir; — our  folks  left  nothin'  on  'em,  —  not  even 
all  their  clothes.  I  heered  'em  call  each  other  '  capt'n,' 
'major,'  and  sich.  They  didn't  pester  us,  —  only  slept 
on  the  porch, — didn't  come  in." 

After  the  visiting  ladies  departed,  packages  labelled 
"Nancy"  were  delivered,  and  thankfully  received. 
Then  we  returned  to  Freeman's.  At  dinner,  the  vis- 
itor noticed  that,  contrary  to  custom,  he  received  his 
cup  of  coffee  last,  and  endeavoring  to  divine  a  reason 


OF    THE   WAR.  267 

for  it,  he  observed  that  the  only  spoon  on  the  table  was 
used  first  for  the  family,  and  then  turned  over  to  the 
visitor,  and  slyly  borrowed  again  by  Mrs.  F. ,  if  required. 
In  order  to  force  an  explanation,  the  writer  slyly  placed 
his  cup  beyond  her  reach.  "Please  let  nie  take  your 
spoon  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  F.  The  spoon  (a  coarse 
leaden  one)  was  passed  and  returned,  which  presented 
a  favorable  opportunity  for  the  visitor  to  inquire,  — 

"•  Is  this  a  family  spoon,  Mrs.  F.  ?  " 

"Well,  yes,  I  reckon  it  is;  we  borrow  it  when  we 
have  company."  (Possible!  so  poor  as  that?) 

"  Borrow  it!    Don't  you  own  even  one?" 

"  No,  I  don't  own  even  one." 

Not  many  weeks  after,  the  Freemans  received  by  ex- 
press a  box  of  articles  from  St.  Louis,  which  had  been 
filled  by  memorandum  taken  in  Georgia,  which  embraced 
various  useful  and  ornamental  articles,  from  an  abundant 
supply  of  large  and  small  spoons  down  to  rubber  rings 
for  teething  babies. 

Four  days  after  the  arrival  at  Freeman's,  the  writer,  ac- 
companied by  young  Mr.  and  Mrs.  F.,  was  conveyed  to 
Covington,  where  the  train  was  boarded  and  a  hearty 
good-bye  spoken,  and  soon  the  visitor  reached  Decatur, 
thence  to  Mrs.  Hambrick's,  where  another  welcome 
awaited  him.  At  the  writer's  request,  old  "  Aunt  Mary," 
who  lived  several  miles  away,  had  been  sent  for  from  Mrs. 
Hambrick's,  and  word  was  awaiting  the  writer  that  his 


268  A   PRIVATE    CHAPTER 

faithful  old  colored  friend  would  be  awaiting  his  arrival  at 
the  appointed  time  and  place  indicated  by  the  messenger. 

The  next  day,  the  appointed  time,  mounted  on  Mrs. 
Hambrick's  horse,  the  visitor  repaired  to  the  meeting- 
place,  which  the  faithful  woman  had  walked  seven  miles 
to  reach.  As  he  approached  his  old  friend,  she  excitedly 
raised  both  hands,  loudly  exclaiming,  — 

u  Bless  de  Lord  !  Bless  de  Lord !  Dat's  him  !  Dat's 
mJ  boy!  Dat's  him!  "  He  had  hardly  dismounted  when 
he  was  unceremoniously  and  affectionately  enfolded  in 
her  dusky  arms,  and  for  some  moments  was  unable  to 
extricate  himself  without  seeming  very  rude ;  beside,  he 
had  no  heart  to  resist  her  embraces. 

She  repeatedly  assured  the  writer,  who  deprecated  the 
necessity  of  her  long  walk,  that  "she'd  walk  her  feet 
off"  to  see  him,  and  reminded  him  that  "I  always  told 
you  dat  I  thought  as  much  of  you  as  of  one  o'  my  own 
chillen."  We  sat  beside  the  road,  —  for  we  met  on  the 
road, — and  for  nearly  an  hour  talked  over  the  incidents 
of  1864,  when  our  guns  were  thundering  before  Atlanta. 
She  assured  the  writer  that  she  waited  not  a  moment 
when  he  sent  for  her,  and  that  if  his  other  colored  friends 
knew  of  his  presence,  "a  whole  regiment"  of  'em  would 
be  there.  She  was  accompanied  only  by  one  of  her 
daughters,  who  had  been  one  of  the  writer's  "pickets" 
in  1864.  They  were  duly  presented  with  a  small  roll  of 


OF    THE   WAR.  269 

44  government  obligations"  as  an  earnest  of  gratitude 
and  respect,  bade  a  hearty  good-bye,  and  the  old  friends 
parted. 

The  return  to  Mrs.  Hambrick's  was  followed  by  a  day 
of  rest  and  pleasant  retrospect,  and  the  pleasant  visit  was 
ended. 

The  facts  connected  with  the  attempt  to  "  muster  out," 
as  herein  related,  were  established  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  government,  and  the  services  and  suffering  of  the 
writer  handsomely  recognized  by  the  latter  in  a  substan- 
tial manner,  the  intrinsic  value  of  which  is  of  no  conse- 
quence compared  to  the  value  of  the  recognition  of  duty 
performed  in  honorable  service. 

The  would-be  murderers  need  have  no  apprehensions  on 
account  of  the  disturbance  of  their  "blissful  ignorance  " 
of  the  earthly  existence  of  the  writer,  which  will*  be 
created  by  this  volume.  They  will  not  be  tried  for  their 
crime  before  a  "jury  of  their  peers;  "  nor  has  the  writer 
any  desire  to  be  tried  for  a  rash  act  before  such  "peers  ;  " 
nor  will  he  follow  the  beastly  example  of  countenancing, 
as  retaliatory  or  otherwise,  the  dark  and  cowardly  arts  of 
the  assassin,  but  will  rather  exclaim,  with  the  old  philoso- 
pher who  finally  succeeded  in  placing  the  annoying  in- 
sects in  his  power,  "Go,  poor  devils;  there's  room 
enough  in  the  world  for  both  thee  and  me. ' ' 

Here,   properly,  this   "Private  Chapter"   draws  to  a 


270  A   PRIVATE   CHAPTER 

close.  The  writer  respectfully  submits  that,  from  the 
facts  within  his  limited  experiences  as  herein  related,  the 
following  conclusions  may  readily  be  reached :  — 

I.  That  the  whole  South  was  not  in  sympathy  with  the 
war   against   the   Union ;    that   there   was   much   in   the 
Southern  maxim,    "The    rich  man's  war,  and  the  poor 
man's  fight;  "  and  that  in  numberless  instances  the  poor 
were   the  mere   victims   of   circumstances   which  placed 
them  under  the  control  of  the  aristocracy  of  wealth,  and 
that   while    necessity  forced    action,   very   many  of   the 
actors  bore  no  real  enmity  against  the  government ;  that 
with  them  it  was  not  a  matter  of  choice,  but  "they  were 
mere  floaters  on  the  tide  of  public  sentiment,  which  their 
standing  on  the  social  scale  permitted  them  neither  to 
control  nor  to  stem. 

II.  That   the  negroes  at   the  South,  as  a  class,  were 
opposed  to  the  enemies  and  true  to  the  friends  of  our 
government,  and  were  ever  ready  and  willing  to  render 
aid  and  comfort  and  to  make  cheerful  sacrifices,  by  day 
or  by  night,   for  our   unfortunate   straggling   "  boys   in 
blue,"    to   whose   interests   and   welfare   they   generally 
evinced  a  remarkable  degree  of  fidelity. 

III.  That  localities  should  not  always  be  condemned 
because  of  the   unlawful  acts  of  a  few ;  for  the  vicinity 
that  produces  outlaws  and  fiends  to  wound,  may  also  be 
capable  of  furnishing  angels   to   save   and   comfort   the 
wounded. 


OF   THE   WAR.  271 

IV.  That  nobility  of  soul  cannot  be  bound  within  the 
narrow  confines  of  sectional  prejudices,  but,  when  oppor- 
tunity is  presented,  is  capable  of  asserting  itself  in  spite 
of  bitter  enmities  naturally  engendered  by  civil  war. 

V.  That   among  the  real  enemies  of  the  government 
there   were   at  least   a  few   whose  prowling  proclivities 
found  ''duties"  at  the  rear,  as  a  pretext  to  avoid  the 
dangers  which  threaten  soldiers  at  the  front  —  beasts  of 
prey  in  human  form,  whose  cowardly  instincts  compelled 
them  to  seek  only  safe  opportunities  to  vent  their  spleen 
against  the  government  by  adding  the  crime  of  murder 
to  that  of  treason. 

VI.  That  actual  test  is  the  severe  but  proper  criterion 
by  which  to  determine  physical  ability  to  endure  exposure 
and  hardship,   or  to  survive  the  effects  of  severe  bodily 
injury. 


THE  END. 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


JAN  2    '80 

JAN201980REC' 
JAN  22  1991     ,, 


SEP151999BEC'B 


507n-l,'69(J5643s8)2373 — 3A,1 


U 


3  2106  00061    1449 


